Dream a Little Bigger? Always
by deinvati
Summary: Arthur is the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts, and he is the best. But with the Transfiguration professor smirking and interrupting him every hour, the Headmistress acting a little less like herself every day, the Daily Prophet sniffing for a story, and the Ministry breathing down his neck, he's got a lot on his plate. A/E slash.
1. Chapter 1

"Your students are late," Eames mused, gesturing at the large clock mounted on the far side of the classroom.

Arthur glanced at him then turned away. Eames had, against school policy, spelled his robes to create all sorts of outlandish patterns. Today's theme was psychedelic paisley, and it made Arthur's head hurt just looking at them. "They aren't late," he said. "They're just punctual. And better at planning than you."

Eames smirked. Across the room, Yusuf was pushing the last desk against the wall, leaving the center of the room wide open. "I can't complain," Yusuf said, brushing his hands against his robes. "It's nice to have a break from them. You can't imagine how many potions explode in each of my classes." He shuddered.

Arthur smiled. "Hey, thanks again for helping out today," he said, directing the thanks at Yusuf. He tried never to look directly at Eames; it was like staring at the sun.

"Not a problem, mate," Yusuf said. "I love Patronuses."

As he spoke, the doors to Arthur's classroom opened and his students filed inside.

"Class," Arthur called, "as you come in, leave your books and things along the wall and form a circle in the middle of the room."

He smiled to himself as they hurried to comply. The advanced group of Defense Against the Dark Arts classes were by far his favorite to teach, and today's lesson was always a hit with the students.

"Now," Arthur started once the shuffle of bodies had quieted, "it's Friday, so you all know what that means."

"Practical application," the class parroted at him, but at least they were all paying attention. When he'd first started teaching, he'd called them "Hands-On Fridays", but it didn't take long working with hormone-fueled teenagers to figure out that telling them to put their hands on things was a bad idea.

"Right. We've been studying the Patronus charm this week. I trust you all did your reading last night." Arthur fixed his fiercest scowl in place and mentally cataloged those who wouldn't meet his eye. "Fantastic. That means today we get to do our first test run. Before we start, let's review."

He caught a muted groan from the class and scowled again but there was no heat behind it. "Alright, that's enough of that. We'll start off easy. Miss Hayes, the Patronus charm is a projection of what?"

He turned to the bright, popular girl on his left. He'd learned to ask her questions early in the class; she got discussions going and paved the way for others to answer.

"Happy thoughts?" she offered.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Is that a question or an answer?"

"Um. Answer?"

It was a sign of how long Arthur had been doing this when he didn't even sigh, just nodded and continued, "Correct, Miss Hayes. The Patronus charm is a projection of positive emotion, which trumps negative emotion every time. Miss Pith, the charm serves as the primary protection against which two dark creatures?"

The tiny girl to his right startled, eyes widening. "Uh," she fumbled, glancing down and picking at her robes. Arthur felt a stab of guilt for calling on her. She always had a hard time answering questions in class, and he could never quite tell if it was because she didn't know, or if she was just nervous speaking in front of everyone.

"Dementors?" she finally guessed.

"Yes, perfect!" Arthur answered. "And one more… anyone?" He waited a few moments, but when no one responded, he said, "Lethifolds. Remember that, it's going to be on the surprise pop quiz tomorrow."

More groans filled the room. Behind him, Arthur heard Eames and Yusuf snicker.

"Now, before we start," Arthur continued, ignoring them, "I want you to remember that no one is going to conjure a full Patronus today. And that's okay. That's why we practice, so just keep trying. Because there are so many of you, I called in reinforcements so there'll be someone around if you need help." He gestured to Yusuf and Eames.

It had been Mal's idea to ask Eames to help with the class. She had checked his schedule, and he just so happened to have a free period during Arthur's class.

"I'm sure he would be willing, _mon cher_ ," she said.

Arthur thought that Eames' willingness wasn't the problem, but he shut down that thought before Mal could hear it. He couldn't just ask Eames to do things for him. Because the problem was that he wanted Eames to say yes. But once Mal had put the idea there, he couldn't stop thinking about it. So Arthur asked Yusuf to help also, as a buffer. And yet, when he asked Eames, he still somehow managed to make an ass of himself.

"I was hoping you and Yusuf could help me with the Patronus class next week," he had said. "I just need an extra pair of hands. Couple pairs of hands, I mean. To help with the Patronus Class."

Eames had grinned like always and said he'd be happy to help, darling, and was there anything else his hands could do? And Arthur had rolled his eyes like always and, well, here they were.

In the back of his mind, Arthur knew he wanted Eames there because the Patronus class was his favorite, and the kids always liked it too. He loved his Patronus, a Great Grey Owl formed from his memory of graduation from Ilvermorny. He'd stood there next to Mal with the whole world in front of him, and even now it crystallized in his mind as a perfect day.

And today, he got to show off, just a bit. And if he was very lucky, he'd get to see Eames's Patronus. He absolutely hadn't been thinking about it, but it was probably some kind of dog.

"Alright, class," Arthur said, "now focus on that memory like we discussed yesterday and practice your wand circles. The three of us will be coming around to check how you're doing." He looked to Yusuf, who was already circling the group, and Eames, whose gaudy paisley robes drew your eye even if you were trying not to look at him. "This is an advanced spell, and it requires the utmost concentration," he said, shaking his head to refocus himself. "If you're doing it right, it should look like this: _Expecto Patronum_!"

A bright silvery light leapt from the end of his wand and swirled in a small cloud for a moment before the shape of a large owl burst forth. It flapped twice, three times, then rose gracefully over the heads of the students. It glided along the ceiling before swooping low to startle them into giggles and Arthur smiled so broadly his dimples were probably showing. But he couldn't help it, and he let the owl circle once before releasing the spell. Each face in front of him grinned at the space where it had disappeared, including Eames. Arthur refused to let that make him blush, because he was a professional, damn it, but he could feel his ears heating anyway.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Your turn now, on three, please. Remember to _concentrate_. Okay, wands up, one, two-"

The door to his classroom flew open and slammed into the wall. Some students shrieked, then laughed, nervously. Dom stood just inside the door, wild-eyed and frantic, and Arthur immediately knew what was wrong.

"Professor Eames," he said calmly, "can you please take over for me? I'll be just a moment."

Eames nodded. "Absolutely," he said as he brandished his wand. His face took on a mock serious look and the students who knew him giggled.

Arthur forced himself to walk, not run, the length of the classroom and wait until the door had closed fully before rounding on Dom.

"Where is she?" Arthur demanded.

"I don't know, I don't know what to do," Dom said shakily, pale and sweating.

"Dom. Is Mal in her office?"

"I've tried everything, Arthur," Dom babbled. "It's still not working."

Arthur gritted his teeth and all but ran to the Headmaster's Tower, shouting the password "Niffler!" to the gargoyle before it had even finished asking for it. The moment it started to move aside, he dashed up the staircase and threw open the doors to the circular office.

Malorie Cobb, the much loved Headmistress of Hogwarts, was on the rug in the center room, twitching and foaming at the mouth. When Arthur crossed the threshold, she stiffened as if she'd sensed him. Then her head pivoted with unsettling slowness to stare eerily at him, her wide eyes looking right through him.

Before he had even entered the room, Arthur had put up Occlumency shields-anyone who'd spent any time around Mal knew how necessary it was. Now he layered on even more and made sure she'd be able to see he was doing it. Arthur had learned over the many years of being her friend that when he was feeling vulnerable, or when Mal was just too much, the extra layers were more of a white flag than actual protection. If Mal was in there somewhere, she'd recognize his deliberate signal. One of her eyelids fluttered, but she gave no indication she even recognized Arthur, let alone his actions. Her body began to spasm again, more spastic and violent than before.

"She's been like this for an hour," Dom said, his voice breaking.

"Dom." Arthur rolled his sleeves to the elbow and knelt beside Mal on the floor. "I need you to get her a glass of water and I need you to tell me the spells you already used," he said, deliberate and calm. He needed Dom to focus on something; he worked better when he had a goal.

"All of them!" Dom burst out, his hand in his hair.

"Dom," Arthur repeated, his voice firm. "A list. Please."

Arthur brushed her hair from her forehead while Cobb rushed around the room getting glass and pitcher and water, shakily reciting a list of spells. Arthur tuned him out and focused on Mal.

"Hey, ma chérie," he whispered in her ear. As she started to moan around the spittle in her mouth, he turned her head to the side so she wouldn't choke. Her sounds of distress got louder, verging on screams, but then her body started to relax. Arthur gathered her up, cradling her and rocking her back and forth. Eventually, she quieted as Arthur spoke non-stop in her mother tongue, muttering nonsense and possibly telling her way more than he normally would in any situation.

He told her how much he admired her, how much she had done for this school, these kids, the wizarding world. He told her how much her children needed her. They were not yet old enough to attend Hogwarts as students and not yet wise enough to understand their mother's brilliance. He told her how much he loved her, how much he'd hated that she'd married Cobb and pushed him away. He told her that he was right here, right here, right here and everything was going to be fine, she'd see, it'll all be fine, just fine.

When her body was calm, Arthur laid her gently back on the floor and wiped her lips with a handkerchief. Her eyelids fluttered and she looked up at Arthur, her eyes lucid and clear.

"Oh Arthur," she whispered, "don't be so scared."

Arthur huffed a small laugh. "Well, don't be so fucking scary." He tried to sit her up, but she grasped his arm, fingers digging too deep. Her face took on that frightening, manic look, the one that he had seen far too often in the past month.

"He needs you too," she said, her face taut. "You have to promise me not to be so scared."

Arthur looked up at Dom, fluttering helplessly above them, a glass of water clutched in his hands. "Dom's fine, Mal, look, he's right here."

But Mal just looked at him with fond pity. "Oh Arthur." The she patted his cheek and rose to her feet. "Mr. Eames, everything is under control, thank you for your concern," she said, calm and steady, every inch the Hogwarts Headmistress again.

Arthur turned in surprise to see Eames's familiar figure in the doorway, his fingers gone white on the doorframe. Arthur had no idea how long he'd been there, but he couldn't read Eames's expression.

"Yes ma'am," Eames finally said. "Glad to hear it."

"I'm sure you are," she said with a knowing smile, adjusting her cuffs and retrieving her wand from her sleeve.

Arthur turned back to Eames, dread and suspicion creasing his forehead. But Eames just ducked out of the room in a swirl of ridiculously patterned robes, leaving the three of them alone.

"Mal," Arthur said, his voice heavy with warning, "it's getting worse."

"No, dear. I'm getting better actually." She moved to the Pensieve in the corner, humming, wand at her temple already pulling gossamer silver strands as she searched for an empty bottle. When she'd safely stoppered the swirling mist, she opened the cabinet to store it and Arthur felt his jaw drop.

There were hundreds… no, thousands of memories. Hundreds of thousands maybe. More than a lifetime's worth, more like many, many lifetimes' worth, all bottled and lined up on shelves. They went on and on, a brilliant storage spell if he'd ever seen one, and one which had definitely not been there the last time he'd visited.

Mal finished labeling the newly filled bottle and turned to see his shocked face. She beamed. "Isn't it marvelous? Dom built it for me."

Dom stuffed his hands in his pockets guiltily and squinted at the air over Arthur's left shoulder.

Arthur looked back at Mal's serene face. She was gazing at the tiny bottles with an obscene amount of love. Arthur had seen Mal at her worst, before and since these "episodes", but that look chilled him to his bones in a way he'd never given in to before. He knew the second Mal sensed it; she tensed and moved to close the cabinet, as if protecting them. Arthur was in such shock he didn't try to hide his feelings about them.

"Mal," he said, "what are you doing?"

She turned to look at him, her PR smile frozen on her face. It was the one she used for visiting dignitaries and pushy pyramid-scheme witches selling makeup. He died a little inside when he saw her using it on him. "My life's work. My most important life's work," she said.

"Mal, you've already done so much, what more could anyone possibly expect from you?"

Mal thawed and patted his cheek again, and he loved her so damn much he couldn't even be mad. She knew, of course, so he didn't need to say it, and she was obviously done talking about this, so he sighed and backed up.

"Alright, have it your way. You usually do."

She smiled again and he turned to leave, resigned. He met Dom's eyes on his way out and Dom nodded to show his thanks. He'd finish taking care of her.

Arthur checked the time as he left the tower. His class was long finished and he was already halfway through his planning period. He thought for a moment then made a decision. He trekked his way to the Transfiguration room.

Eames was returning half-transformed teacups back into mice and placing them in their cage. He looked up when Arthur entered, but the smile he gave was more muted than usual. Arthur sat at a desk and watched him work, both of them quiet.

"So," Arthur broke the silence, "you speak French." It wasn't a question.

Eames shrugged. "I had a girlfriend at Beauxbatons for a while when I was a fifth year and she gave me lessons. Heady stuff, all hormone fueled. Can't believe I retained any of it." He grinned his crooked smile at Arthur. "Of course, she'd have made anyone want to learn French."

Arthur just shook his head, beyond the point of trying to figure out when Eames was pulling his leg. His bullshit detector went haywire around the man. And it was a teacher's bullshit detector too, finely honed from years of experience.

He swallowed, not sure how to start what he wanted to say. "Listen, what you heard…"

"Was none of my business," Eames finished for him. He finished with the mice and tucked his wand in the sleeve of his gaudy paisley robes, watching Arthur expectantly.

"Right," Arthur said, feeling off-center. "Thanks, then, I guess."

"Don't mention it."

Arthur shifted, awkward in the sudden silence, and cast around for something to say. Eames stood patiently watching him, casually confident as ever. Finally Arthur asked, "Are you planning on taking those to Magical Creatures? I could take them for you, if you needed…" He petered off.

Eames looked down at the cage of squeaking mice as if seeing it for the first time.

"Ah, no, not just yet. I have another class due next hour, I'll need them again then. But thank you, Arthur."

"Yeah, sure." For some reason, Arthur felt the tips of his stupid ears heating up.

He retreated back to his classroom. He had notes to go over, but he found himself sitting in the first chair in the front row, the one Eames always occupied whenever he came to bother Arthur between classes. Arthur flipped pages in his notebook with more force than was necessary and tried to convince himself that he hadn't seen "Arthur" written in Mal's spidery handwriting on the bottle she'd added to her collection.

* * *

A/N: Cover art was made by dasyatidae. (she's on AO3.) You guys! She made me ART! And it's beautiful! Go to her. Heap upon her laurels and accolades. Explain to her how wonderful she is because I think she stopped listening to me.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur's thoughts drifted again as he paged through his lesson notes Monday morning. The thing was, he mused, he was pretty sure no one on this planet loved him the way Mal did. They'd bonded in the Ilvermorny dining hall on Mal's first day over their obsession with tri-taters and had been inseparable ever since.

Malorie Miles had always been skilled at Legilimency, but it wasn't until she was expelled during her second year at Beauxbatons that it became apparent how naturally it came to her. She had progressed exponentially on her own, with only books and word of mouth to guide her. Unfortunately, Legilimency isn't something 12-year-olds are generally capable of handling in a mature way, especially without some kind of direction.

The full-scale investigation Mal caused wasn't entirely her fault. The Legilimency she had performed on her Charms professor wasn't specific or even intentional, but she didn't know what to do except report the homicidal images she'd seen in her professor's head to the authorities. It turned out that the middle-aged, perfectly professional witch she'd accused was not planning on murdering her students. She was just a stressed-out teacher. But that didn't stop the widespread panic and discreditation that followed. So when Mal transferred to Ilvermorny, she came with a bit of a reputation.

Arthur was a quiet loner, and it seemed almost inevitable that he be sucked into the tornado that was Mal. She was eccentric, foreign, interesting, and just a little bit dangerous, and Arthur was hooked. If he'd had a heterosexual bone in his body, he'd have fallen for her head-over-heels like the rest of his class. Instead, he stood next to her in line at the cafeteria and made dry, cutting comments about their Muggle Studies professor to make her laugh.

He took it upon himself to call her out when she was being disproportionately passionate about something. "Mal, you're being a bitch and everyone can tell." He told her when she was talking too loud, which was most of the time. "Would you like a megaphone? Because that's the only way you could get louder." And he held her hand when she couldn't control how she was. "Mal, this isn't your fault. Just because he didn't want to hear it doesn't mean it isn't true."

Arthur wasn't remarkable, he'd known that for a long time. He was a hard worker, and an adept planner, but _Mal._ Mal _was_ remarkable. She quickly became a legend in the field of Legilimency, and when they graduated, they both put in their applications at the Ministry to become Aurors. They would stop criminals, right wrongs, and bring justice to the world, partners forever.

Except they never became partners. They were both hired by the US Ministry, but Arthur shouldn't have been surprised when Mal was placed on a special task force and he was shoved behind a desk. And Mal was partnered with Dominic Cobb. It was a fierce, frantic, and frankly slightly disgusting courtship that Arthur had to hear _far_ too much about, but Mal was sunk for him, and Arthur used every professional resource he had to determine if Dom was anywhere near worthy of his Mal. He wasn't, but neither was he a bad guy, so Arthur shook Dom's hand and joined him on the couch to watch Quidditch. And one night when they got drunk and Arthur blurted out his boyfriend had dumped him, Cobb collapsed with relief and then laughed himself silly. Arthur didn't think it was all that funny, but after that, Dom seemed to adopt a "big brother" role around him, and Arthur let him because he didn't know what else to do.

Eames's voice interrupted his thoughts as he strolled into Arthur's classroom. "I think you have another student with a crush on you," he quipped.

The erasers paused in wiping the last lesson off the chalkboard as Eames entered, but otherwise Arthur gave no sign he knew Eames had spoken. Eames dropped into his usual seat in the first row and kicked his legs up on the desk, his wide salmon-colored robes fluttering around him. And salmon-colored, of course, meant colored like an actual salmon, glittering like scales whenever Eames shifted his bulk. He grinned at Arthur, waiting to be acknowledged.

Arthur flicked an eye up to him then back down to his notebook, the pages turning by themselves. "Oh yeah?" he asked without interest. "And who is that?"

Eames crossed his arms, smirking. "Tiny little second-year transfer named Ophelia Pith. Promise not to scare her too much, will you?"

"Humph," he grunted. "And what makes you think she has a crush?" Arthur couldn't meet Eames's eyes. He felt too raw right now after Mal's episode, and everything was too close to the surface. And the way Eames looked at him, he always felt like the Metamorphmagus could read everything he was thinking, no matter how skilled Arthur was at Occlumency.

"The way she stares moonily when you walk past, of course. But, I suppose I could be wrong. She could just appreciate good tailoring." Eames leered at him, eyeing him up and down exaggeratedly. Arthur fought not to run a hand down his bespoke robes. He _knew_ he looked good today.

Arthur snorted. "No one appreciates good tailoring anymore." He looked pointedly at Eames's wide collars spread over the opening at his throat.

"Not true! I most certainly do." Eames returned Arthur's look.

"What do you want, Eames?" Arthur asked with a huff of annoyance that covered the butterflies Eames's attention gave him.

"I was hoping you could use your attractiveness and wiles to lure her to join my Quidditch team." Eames beamed at him. "Cobb has his eye on her for Gryffindor, and I'm hoping you can help me steal her. She apparently comes from a family of chasers and her first day on a broom she blew Robert away."

Arthur snapped his moleskin shut. "Yeah, I'm not going to do that."

"Have a heart, darling!"

"Yeah, I'm not going to do that either."

Eames laughed like Arthur was hilarious, and Arthur's heartbeat skidded at the sound. Eames flipped a red, flat disc with his thumb and transformed it while it was in midair. Arthur had always loved this trick, although he tried not to show it. Eames could create some beautiful things when he wanted to. His Transfiguration class was always a favourite among the students.

When Eames caught him staring, he transformed it into a shiny spinning top and sent it flying over. Arthur drew his wand without thinking and destroyed it efficiently in a small burst of blue smoke. Eames pouted dramatically, and Arthur, to his great annoyance, felt a flash of guilt.

"Don't you ever use your planning period?" Arthur asked, his irritation bordering on real now.

"Me? Of course I do. This just isn't it."

Arthur blinked, surprised out of his bad mood. "It's not?" He didn't have time to keep track of Eames schedule, never mind that he had last semester's memorized. That just sort of happened. It's not like he went out of his way to look it up.

"Nope. Fourth hour."

Arthur frowned. "You mean when you were taking a nap in the professor's lounge yesterday?"

"Ah. What you saw there was a highly advanced technique of transcribing notes internally, recording them in a mental register for easy recollection later."

"You were snoring."

Eames flapped his hand. "Misdirection. I am a master of it. But seriously, Arthur, this technique! It has done wonders for my lesson plans, you should try it sometime. I could teach you. Tell you what, come over tonight and we'll get started."

"Yet another thing I'm not going to do," Arthur said with a sigh. "Mr. Eames, I have two back-to-back seventh years coming up that I do actually need to prepare for."

"Say no more, I can take a hint."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Sure you can." But his lips twitched as Eames left the room.

Later, Arthur used the Finneganet to look up the red disc Eames had been transfiguring. Muggles called it a poker chip. He hadn't thought of Eames as someone who had a large interest in Muggle artifacts, but he felt bad for destroying it without thought, especially since it turned out to be harder than he imagined to replace. In the end, Arthur paid the outrageous fee to Moribund's Wizarding Emporium to have a new one delivered by owl. Well, a used one. He wasn't _rich._

The invention of the Finneganet had changed the course of study at Hogwarts, and indeed, the whole wizarding world. It was different than when he was in school, and teaching evolved with it. Its creator, Seamus Finnegan, had attempted to replicate the Muggles' shared resource, something they used for being social and looking at pictures of cats. Finnegan had reportedly been tired of being blown up by Muggle electronics, and made it an enchanted book. It had been flying off the shelves since its inception, and while there was still a restricted section at the library, most of the rest had been replaced with copies of the Finneganet. It made life a lot easier, for students as well as professors.

Arthur was walking across campus after his back-to-back sevenths to clear his head and enjoy the end of the season's warmth when he heard a high-pitched whoop of victory. He caught sight of a small figure astride a broomstick, high over the Quidditch pitch completing consecutive loop de loops at breakneck speed. Arthur wandered over.

He stopped alongside Robert, whose long neck was tilted back as far as it would go, watching the slight figure with a small smile on his lips. They both stood a moment, tracking her movements until she levelled out and landed among her peers.

"Arthur!" Robert exclaimed, clapping him on the shoulder. "What brings you by?"

Arthur indicated the girl currently being surrounded by the other students, her face flushed with excitement and a grin stretching from ear to ear. "Eames said she was good. At least, I assume that's her, Ophelia Pith? The transfer student?"

Robert's excited blue eyes danced. "Yes, that's her! Isn't she fantastic? Such precision, such grace… did you see her do the slalom?"

Arthur shook his head. Robert turned to the pitch, put his fingers in his mouth, and let loose a shrill whistle. He motioned to the girl to go again and she nodded, her face breaking into another smile. Robert used his wand to throw giant pillars of coloured smoke into the air above the pitch and they both watched as she navigated the maze at high speed, turning corners like she'd been doing it since birth.

Arthur's eyebrows rose. "Wow. Eames was right. I am impressed."

"Your condescension, as always, is much appreciated, Arthur," came the warm drawl behind him. "Thank you."

Arthur turned to see Eames walking towards him, his robes billowing in the breeze and showing off the awful trousers he insisted on wearing. How someone could look so good while looking so bad was beyond Arthur. His crooked teeth were on display as he grinned at Arthur, and Arthur caught himself before he could lick his lips.

"Eames," he muttered at the ground in greeting.

"Eames!" Robert cried. "Did you see?"

"I did indeed, Robert," Eames said. "Gryffindor's still got a full roster, right? Any word yet on who she'll be trying out with?"

Robert's boyish grin faded and he shrugged. "She, ah, she said she's not sure she's interested."

Eames blinked in surprise. "Not interested?!" he exclaimed. "But tryouts are next week!"

Arthur tapped his Moleskin against his thigh and took a discreet step back.

Robert shrugged again. "Can't make her want to play Quidditch, Eames. She said she just likes flying."

"But Quidditch _is_ flying!" Eames bellowed, and Arthur slid further back. "Doesn't she like Quidditch? Isn't she a witch? How can she not be interested!?"

When he was sure neither of them would notice, Arthur turned and started the walk back to the castle, the sound of Eames's braying following him up the path. Arthur shook his head, picturing Eames throwing his arms in the air and shouting out lists of chasers through the years and where would we be if so-and-so had decided they weren't interested?

"What are you smiling about?"

Arthur snapped his head up to see Yusuf smirking at him, one eyebrow raised quizzically.

"I'm… not," Arthur said, feeling far too warm, suddenly.

Yusuf's other eyebrow quirked up. "Uh huh," he said. "Where are you headed? Could you help me in the lab for a moment?" He turned and headed to the stairs without waiting for Arthur's reply.

"Ah, yeah, sure," Arthur answered and followed Yusuf to the potions lab to lend a hand.

The next time he saw Eames was during his planning period. Arthur tried to grumble to himself that he never seemed to get any actual planning done whenever Eames was around, but then Eames stretched and put his wide chest on display, and Arthur lost his train of thought.

"So, I see you've still got my future chaser gazing at you wistfully," Eames remarked. "How do you manage to get anything accomplished Arthur? You must have to beat them off with a stick."

Arthur snorted. "You should talk," he said, even though he knew he shouldn't be encouraging this line of conversation. "Didn't you have the girl with the literal hearts in her eyes?"

Eames chuckled. "Ah, yes. You have to admit, it was a pretty clever spell. Stupid, she had to go to the infirmary to get her pupils changed back, but clever."

Arthur chuckled too but stopped when he noticed Eames staring at him.

The silence stretched a beat too long before Eames said with a rush, "I've stopped by to see how wooing young Ophelia to my cause was going."

"I've never wooed anything in my life," Arthur said dryly.

"You shock me to my core, Arthur. Then how did you get the talented Mal Cobb to follow you here?"

Arthur let a small, wistful smile steal over his face. "I followed her, actually."

Eames watched him carefully, quiet for once. Arthur just pushed his robes aside to place his hands in his pockets, an indulgent and slightly pained smile on his face, adding, "We graduated from Ilvermorny together."

"Ah, what was she like, then? Before?"

Arthur's smile changed, fond and soft, almost a dimple smile. "She was lovely."

It was quiet, both men lost in their thoughts. Then the bell rang, breaking the moment.

"Well," Eames said rising to his feet. "I'd better let you get to those seventh years."

Arthur nodded, hands still in his pockets, and watched him walk out.


	3. Chapter 3

"Merlin's beard, I appreciate you doing this Arthur," Cobb panted as he hurried into his dress robes and pulled James's hands from around his knee. "It's just that they keep having follow-up meetings at the Ministry and everything's getting dragged out, and… well, I just appreciate you watching them."

Arthur shrugged. "Shouldn't be a problem. Where's Miles tonight?" he asked. Mal's father-in-law lived in Hogsmeade and usually watched the kids when needed. Arthur watched Mal float aimlessly by the front door as he half-listened to Dom's reply. She was elegantly dressed, her robes flashing with monochromatic sequins. She looked beautiful, as always. But she was clearly lost in thought, her face distant, oblivious to everyone around her. She hadn't said two words to him when he'd arrived, just smiled vacantly and drifted through the rooms. Arthur picked up James and deposited him next to Phillipa, distracting them with a book full of pictures he'd borrowed from the library.

"He's off to a conference in…Paris, maybe? I can't remember," came Cobb's voice from the hall closet. "Okay, I think we're ready."

Dom straightened his robes, glanced at himself one last time in the hall mirror and shuffled Mal to the door. "Ready, dear?" he asked. She smiled blandly, her eyes withdrawn. "Thanks again, really," Cobb said before shouting a quick, "Bye, kids!" and rushing Mal out the door. Phillipa and James, who'd been staring raptly at the pages of the book, turned and blinked at the closed front door with huge eyes. Arthur could see James's lip start to quiver and he grabbed his wand to turn on some bouncy music.

"Okay, kiddos! I have an activity for you. I'm going to need help with this one, but I need someone who has very strong fingers. Do you know anyone with strong fingers?"

Both Phillipa and James's hands flew into the air, Phillipa first shouting, "Me! Me!" and James following right behind her, "Memememe!"

"Perfect! Two sets of strong fingers work even better. Okay, now watch closely." Arthur withdrew a stack of paper from the enchanted inner pocket of his robe and set them on the nearby desk. He quickly took the top one and folded it. "Okay, strong fingers, I need you to press this fold flat. Yes, just like that. Perfect. Okay, now this fold. Good. Have you done this before? You have, haven't you?"

They both giggled. Arthur's slim fingers managed fold after fold until they were looking at a small origami frog crouched on their dining room table. Arthur grinned and pressed the back of the frog with a thumbnail and let it slide off, watching the frog jump.

"Ooh!" Phillipa gushed, "is it magic?"

"Izzit magic?" James echoed.

"Nope," Arthur smiled. "Just folded paper. You want to make it jump?" They took turns trying to make the frog go where they wanted it to, but James got frustrated quickly.

"Make it go! Arfur, make it go!"

"Alright, I'll make it go," Arthur chuckled and whispered a charm to make the paper hop by itself.

"Yay!" James cheered, clapping.

They made several more frogs, Arthur switching between making supper and helping Phillipa with the tricky parts.

"Arthur," Phillipa whined, "I want a real frog."

He smiled and briefly considered the cost of a pet frog before remembering he should probably clear that with their parents. His own parents would never have spent an hour making jumping frogs with him, and he wondered if he was spoiling them. "Well, sweetie, I would, but-"

There was a knock on the residence door, and Arthur tried to corral the kids as they jumped and yelled their excitement at the unseen visitor, arguing about whose turn it was to answer it. Phillipa had let Arthur in, so he helped James turn the doorknob to reveal a charming and smiling Eames, waiting patiently on the other side. He seemed surprised to see Arthur though.

"Well, hello, little ones!" he greeted them.

"Mr. Eames, Mr. Eames!" they chanted, and Arthur noticed their accents shifted to match his. The little chameleons usually fluctuated depending on who they were talking to. He supposed it was a result of growing up around so many diverse voices.

"Are your mum and dad at home?" he asked them, his eyes flicking to Arthur.

Arthur leaned back, feeling oddly exposed without his professor's robes around him. "Ah, no, they're not at the moment."

Eames frowned, looking more put out than Arthur anticipated. "Hmm. Do you know when they'll be back, by chance?"

It was Arthur's turn to frown. "No, they didn't say. Something I can help you with?"

Eames's frown dissolved and Arthur could see the lines of his shoulders relax. "No, thank you though, Arthur. Cobb just asked me to work on something for him. He said it was urgent. I was expecting him to be waiting by the door with the way he sounded."

Arthur couldn't help but smile at that. "Yeah, that sounds like him. He sounds like that most of the time, just a head's up. If it makes you feel any better, I'm pretty sure it was a last minute thing they got called out for."

"Mr. Eames, Mr. Eames," Phillipa begged, clearly at the end of being able to wait her turn. She tugged at Eames's robes until he crouched down to meet her. "Can you make the duck face? Pleeeeease? Please make the duck face?"

He chuckled, looking up at Arthur sheepishly. "I don't want to spoil your evening with Arthur, poppet. I was just going to be on my way."

"No, no!" both children exclaimed, clinging to him now and trying to tug him into the residence. "You can stay! We have an extra plate! You can have supper with us!"

"Well, I don't-" Eames tried to protest.

"Arfur can't make a real frog!" James tattled.

Eames's quick grin was wide and genuine, and Arthur could feel himself blushing. He took a deep breath to try and get it under control. He had always hated his fair skin and tendency to go pink at the slightest provocation. It was humiliating.

"Is that right?" Eames said.

"Yeah, we just have paper ones!" Phillipa said, half proud and half accusatory.

"Okay, you two, go get washed for supper," Arthur commanded, his tone brooking no argument.

"Can Mr. Eames stay?" James asked, his eyes huge in his face.

Arthur kept his scowl as he said, "Yes, alright, he can stay."

The kids screamed their excitement, jumping up and down before barrelling down the hall to wash.

Eames rose from his crouch and Arthur stood aside so he could come in.

"You're terrifying, Arthur. Those poor children are scared to death of you," Eames grinned.

"I expect you to wash your hands too, Eames," Arthur said, his voice stern. "Who knows where they've been?"

He laughed, joyful and open, and Arthur wondered if he himself had ever sounded like that. Mostly he tried for "grouchy and smarter than you," but Eames was rarely deterred.

"I'll never tell," Eames said and dutifully followed the sound of the children splashing and arguing over the soap.

Arthur found himself staring at the self-stirring pot, wishing that his cooking was remarkable and breathtaking and the kind of food that caused orgasmic moans to escape unheeded. Unfortunately, it was just a simple, easy recipe from his youth, the one he always liked as a kid and he would make for himself on rainy days when he felt self-indulgent and lazy. He sighed and set another place at the table.

The three of them barreled in and Arthur brought the pot to the table, letting Phillipa serve herself and helping James.

"This looks marvelous, darling! You never told me you were a chef!" Eames teased.

Arthur shot him an annoyed look and plopped the food on his plate. Eames grinned through his first bite.

"Mmm," Eames hummed in surprise. "This _is_ marvelous, Arthur!"

Arthur looked up, insulted at the surprise in Eames' voice, but froze as he caught a glimpse of Eames' tongue swiping across his lips. As he stared, Eames shoveled another, larger bite into his mouth, releasing a groan that was _not_ sexy and absolutely did _not_ make Arthur want to drag it out of him again and again.

It turned out having Eames around to help with the kids was surprisingly… fun. He made them laugh by morphing between impressions, the "duck" a definite favorite, and he helped convince them that baths were delightful and not at all boring or the end of the known world. He transfigured Arthur's origami frog into a real frog, letting it hop in the shallow water of the tub while Arthur gathered pajamas, towels, and shampoo. He promised them one story each _with voices_ if they would listen to Arthur and take their baths, and then Arthur breathed a sigh of relief when they were dry, clothed, and pressed on either side of Eames listening to him read.

Finally, Arthur tucked them into their bunk beds, explaining that he was giving them their goodbye kisses now because their parents would be here when they woke up, and eased their door closed.

He found Eames in the study, fire lit and a tumbler of scotch on the end table, identical to the one in Eames's hand.

"Arthur, I don't know how you do it. I'm exhausted."

Arthur's half smile was wry. "They love you."

"Well," Eames shrugged, "that's all my tricks. If you need me again, you're going to get repeats."

"Thank you, is what I meant to say."

Eames's blue eyes were complicated, but he sounded sincere when he said, "You're welcome. Now," he patted the couch, "I do have to leave soon, but just in case the infamous Cobb duo show up in the near future, I demand you regale me with tales of your misspent youth in the wild west of America with the lovely and dangerous Mal Cobb."

Arthur shook his head, smiling, and sat at the far end, propping one ankle on his knee and retrieving the glass. He told Eames stories about their horrific Muggle Studies professor, whom everyone despised, and the time Mal was caught smuggling a No-Maj into her dorm, and that one incident with her charms homework.

"She set it on fire and couldn't put it out," Arthur said, smiling. "So she brought it to class- _still on fire_ -and handed it to the professor like nothing was wrong!"

Eames cackled and drained what was left in his glass. Arthur pulled his wand from his sleeve and incanted a perfect refilling spell.

Eames issued a low whistle. "Well, now," he murmured, "that is impressive. I never did get the hang of that one."

Arthur shrugged. "Pretty sure that's how I got my first boyfriend."

Eames chuckled, but it was subdued. He swirled his glass idly, and Arthur realized how dumb that sounded, like he was trying to pick Eames up. Shit. He cleared his throat, opening his mouth to retract or clarify or _something_ , when Eames interrupted him.

"So, how did all of that lead to a teaching position at Hogwarts?" he asked, his big hands resting the tumbler on his thigh and making the glass look dainty.

Arthur smoothed down his vest and tried to stop watching Eames's hands. Or thighs. "Well, I told you Mal got the job first. She got an owl from McGonagall herself," he said, remembering Mal's excitement when she told him. "She'd heard about everything Mal had done for the field of Legilimency and wanted her to come teach the first official Hogwarts class for it."

Eames made an impressed face and Arthur smirked as he said, "She turned it down."

"She did what?" Eames said, shocked.

Arthur smiled. "She told McGonagall she wouldn't accept the position unless they taught a corresponding Occlumency class that was at minimum required by all first years. Well, McGonagall was impressed as hell, agreed to the class and the requirements and asked for a recommendation for a teacher to teach it. And that's how the Cobbs came to England."

"Did they adopt you?"

Arthur blinked, sure he'd misheard. "What?"

"You said that's how the Cobbs came to England. Did you join their pack officially, or…?"

"Ah," Arthur said, ducking his head, "my part of the story is not quite as interesting. There was an opening, Mal put in a good word for me, and here I am."

"Mmm," Eames hummed. "Here we are."

The silence that followed seemed weighted, thick in the warmth of the room. Arthur was aware of every inch that separated them, and every minute movement Eames's square fingers made on the rim of his glass.

"So, how about you?" he asked, his words tumbling over one another.

"Hmm?" Eames said, looking up. "Sorry, what about me?"

"How did you get from wherever you were to here?" Arthur covered his flush with another drink.

"I've been a lot of places, darling. Not all of them good, unfortunately." He seemed disinclined to say anything else, so Arthur busied himself finishing his drink and refilling it. Eames's eyes tracked him and Arthur felt himself heat under his gaze. Or maybe that was the alcohol.

"Arthur…" Eames started, leaning forward to set his drink on the coffee table and bringing his chest that much closer to Arthur. Arthur couldn't stop the way his nostrils flared, taking in the smell of parchment and ink and scotch mixed with the sharp, male scent of Eames.

Arthur swallowed thickly, his tongue flicking out to wet his lip, and Eames's sharp eyes were on him. Arthur opened his mouth, sure he should say something-

"Arfur?"

The small voice was like a bucket of cold water over the both of them. They immediately backed up, Arthur looking over the back of the couch at the boy trailing his blanket and looking scared.

"Yes, James," Arthur said, his voice too loud in the small room, and he startled James, whose lip quivered and tears started to pool in his eyes.

"Are you alright, poppet?" came Eames's calming lilt.

James just buried his face in the blanket he was carrying and started to cry. Arthur wasn't sure which of them got there first, but they both launched off the couch to kneel in front of him, murmuring soothing words and sussing out the nighttime accident that had brought James out to them.

Eames changed sheets while Arthur ran a quick bath and they finally got him laid down again, content with fresh pajamas and a very small sip of water.

When they got back to the living room, Arthur was more than eager to pick up where they'd left off, but a loud thump sounded at the front door and the doorknob started to rattle. Arthur immediately tensed, all senses firing on high alert as he pulled his wand, vaguely aware of Eames beside him doing the same. "What on earth…?" he muttered, glancing at his watch. It was late, surely anyone who'd needed the Cobbs could wait until-

The door finally flew open, and Dom stood on the other side, chest heaving and practically falling inside.

"Arthur!" he gasped, "Hurry. She's locked herself in, and I can't… she changed the password and I think… Please!"

Arthur glanced at Eames. "The kids…?"

Eames grabbed the nearest thing to hand, a pair of origami frogs, and his wand. He nodded at Arthur. "I'll handle it. Go, I'll catch up."

Arthur asked no questions, just followed Dom at a run. He was probably overreacting, he told himself as he sprinted through the deserted corridors. Mal was probably just in a mood, nothing a few French endearments and a glass of wine couldn't fix. He tried to focus on that, but his heart knew nothing except the fear in Cobb's voice and the panic it sent coursing through him. His feet beat a sharp staccato against the stone and Cobb kept time at his side.

"Niffler!" Arthur shouted as they reached the gargoyle. " _Niffler_!"

"You are waiting for a train," the gargoyle said instead.

" _What_?" Arthur shouted.

"Mal!" Dom yelled.

"A train that will take you far away," intoned the gargoyle.

"Damn it Mal!" Dom said. "Please don't do this!"

"Can't you bypass this?" Arthur demanded, hands and wand running over the stone, looking for something, anything to let them in.

"No, only she can," Dom said, defeat already in his voice.

"You know where you hope this train will take you, but you don't know for sure," the gargoyle continued. "But it doesn't matter. Now, why is that?"

Dom swallowed and closed his eyes. "Because we'll be together," he whispered.

Outside, suddenly, people were screaming. Dom collapsed to the floor, his face in his hands, as the gargoyle finally scraped aside.

Arthur hesitated, then ran outside. He followed the stream of students, pouring out of their dorms in bathrobes and slippers.

"Let me through," he called out, pushing through the masses.

Suddenly, Eames was there, blocking his path, eyes dark. "Arthur," he breathed. When Arthur tried to push past him, Eames grabbed his arm. "No, don't look, darling, please don't-"

But it was too late. Arthur caught sight of a bundle of monochromatic sequins on the grass and the world started to narrow. Edges went black, noises stopped, and Arthur broke away from Eames with something clawing its way out of his throat and ran to her side.

She was lying directly under the Headmaster's Tower, her eyes staring unseeing at the heavens. She looked… broken. Her arm and leg were bent unnaturally, and Arthur's hands didn't know where to touch her. He felt for a pulse, even though he knew. He knew the moment he'd heard the scream.

"Oh, God, Mal," he whispered, and he was broken. "Why, _ma chérie_? Why would you do this?"

Her eyes were empty and cold in a way they'd never been in life, and for a moment Arthur couldn't stand it. The world was broken, irrevocably. A place that allowed something like this was uninhabitable, cruel and unthinkable. Then he heard a choked sob from a student behind him and he remembered where he was. He remembered who he was, at least to these students, and he pulled his armor around him again. He shuttered it all, every whimper, every tear, every scream, and when he looked up, the world had edges again. Too many, maybe, but he would deal with that later.

He allowed himself one last look, one fingertip moving a lock of hair off her forehead, and then he shut her eyes. He couldn't stand to see her that way. Behind him, he heard a strangled cry and he turned in time to catch Dom as he collapsed.

Arthur's hand twisted in Dom's shirt and his mind shut down as it heard Dom's wail. They sat on the ground, damp sinking into Arthur's trousers and he kept Dom from falling into the mud. Thankfully, the Hogwarts professors had started clearing students off the grounds, taking points indiscriminately from every house and all but pushing kids back in the castle.

What Arthur would remember later about that endless night was his nagging feeling someone else was supposed to show up and take over. Surely there was a grown-up that could handle all the questions and decisions. He was just their friend, this shouldn't be him handling this. But in the middle of collecting Dom, herding students, and trying to gather the staff, representatives from the Ministry of Magic started to arrive, and then he didn't have time to think.

The authorities swarmed over everything, detaining students, questioning endlessly and shuffling Dom off to who-knows-where. When they found Dom's wand at the top of the tower, the evening took on a level of surreal Arthur hadn't dreamt possible.

Arthur found himself telling his part of the story over and over. They kept asking him things like, "Why did this happen? Who is going to stand in as the interim Headmaster while Deputy Headmaster Cobb is being questioned? Do you believe the students are safe?" He wanted to scream, "Why me? Why are you bothering me right now, can't you tell that everything is broken?"

Someone had to ask him about the children twice before he realized they were referring to Mal's children.

"Ah shit," he muttered, standing.

"Sir, we are not done yet," said the bland-faced man from the Ministry.

Arthur's patience snapped. "Oh come on!" he yelled. "Someone needs to check on them! They're alone right now. You can't just-"

"Arthur?" Eames was standing behind him with his hands in his pockets. "Anything I can do?"

A small breath of relief escaped Arthur. "Yes, god, thank you. No one's with the Cobb kids."

Eames withdrew one of origami frogs he'd pocketed earlier, transfigured into a small, plastic frog with a speaker on its back. It glowed a sleepy green color, and from the speaker he could hear Phillipa's characteristic snores. "I've been keeping an ear on them from here. But," he reassured Arthur, "I'll go check on them now." Eames disappeared, heading back to the Cobb's residence, and Arthur's thought process ground to a halt when he realized someone would need to tell them. And contact Miles. And there were no other grown-ups coming to take over.


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur found the letter in Mal's desk, hidden with a charm they'd used as kids to pass notes in class. Clearly she'd meant for Arthur to find it instead of the Ministry goons who had been crawling all over the grounds, but it wasn't addressed to him. On the front of the scroll of parchment "The Daily Prophet" was written in Mal's distinctive handwriting, and her Hogwarts seal held it shut.

Arthur hesitated for less than a second before breaking the seal and unrolling the letter.

His first thought was that someone had used a forgery quill to imitate Mal's writing, but then he kept reading, scanning faster and faster until the words almost blurred under his eyes. He set it down, knowing he'd need to pick it up and read it again, but for now, he just… he reached for something else, anything else to think about.

His eyes landed on a picture Mal kept on her desk, and he swiveled it to face him. In it, Mal and Dom held their kids, and Miles stood with an arm over each of their shoulders, embracing the whole family. The bright blue of an ocean twinkled as Arthur watched the rhythmic waves lap at the shore behind them. An excited Phillipa waved at him while a sleepy James rested in his mother's arms, recently woken and blinking in the sun.

Miles had come to stay with the kids. He'd been amazingly stoic, fantastically British, and a huge help organizing the funeral. Arthur had classes to lead, homework to mark, and not enough hours in the day to deal with two children on top of running a school and planning his oldest friend's funeral, which would host the largest gathering of witches and wizards outside of the Quidditch World Cup.

It was too much. Everything was too much.

Arthur sighed, ran a hand down his face, and picked up the parchment once more.

 _To: Steven Nash, Editor at the Daily Prophet_

 _From: Malorie Cobb, Headmistress at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

 _I have recently completed work on what I consider the greatest contribution to the wizarding community ever made. I have devoted myself to this project for the better part of a year, but I expect my benefaction to live on far past my time._

 _The collected innermost thoughts of prominent members of our society have been stored as Pensieve memories, and can be retrieved at the user's request from the Headmistress's office at Hogwarts School. These thoughts are a combination of surface thoughts, motivations, and influences, as well as deeper, subconscious collections, deeper possibly than even the subject may be aware exists. These dormant, possibly repressed thoughts have been known to drive future decisions and actions, as evidenced in my published research, available through Flourish and Blotts._

She went into deep detail about her research, referencing things that went over even Arthur's head, and he had to put the paper down again. How could she have been planning this the whole time? She hadn't even told him. He hated this, hated the whole thing. He wanted to obliterate the words, his memory, and the bottles he knew were hidden behind the innocuous looking door.

The cabinet beckoned, begging to be called a liar, and Arthur went. He couldn't explain why, but he pulled his wand as he approached and cleared his mind. When the hinges creaked open, it was just bottles, but Arthur felt his mouth go dry and his tongue clicked in his throat as he swallowed. There were… more. A lot more. Mal must have been pulling memories, no, _thoughts,_ non-stop since he'd been in here last. No wonder she wasn't herself; she must have been exhausted.

Now that he was closer, he could see that the contents of the bottles were slightly different than the standard Pensieve memories. They had a slightly blue tint, and the swirling was more sluggish. Arthur pulled a rack toward him, impressed by the way it glided soundlessly forward, and selected a bottle at random.

Cornelius Fudge.

Arthur felt a twist of excitement in his gut with the realization of what he held in his hand. He could pour this in the Pensieve right now and supposedly have access to the deep subconscious thoughts of the former Minister of Magic. His head swam with all of the wizards and witches who would pay dearly for access to this, starting with the people at the Daily Prophet. Did he really want to see this? Arthur didn't have to debate with himself long to find out that, Merlin help him, he really, really did.

He wheeled the Pensieve over and unstoppered the bottle. He hesitated only a moment before dumping it in and following it down immediately, still taking that involuntary breath he never could convince his lizard brain he didn't need.

The tumbling sensation was especially strong, but when he jolted upright, he was standing in front of a full panel of the Wizengamot, with Fudge himself in the Prime Minister's spot. The purple robes of the court gave him a sense of unease. He'd always felt the Wizengamot was slightly stodgy and primeval, but to have them all staring at him was unsettling.

 _Yes, yes as it should be. Finally, justice for the guilty!_

The deep voice echoed through the room. Arthur flinched, but he couldn't find the speaker. He looked back at Fudge's face and took in his smug expression. _The collected innermost thoughts_ , Mal had said in her letter.

Arthur looked around the rest of the room. An enormous, hairy man in an absolutely hideous suit stood next to him, twisting his meaty hands together. Occasionally, he pulled an oversized handkerchief from his pocket to wipe at the sweat puddling at his face and neck.

 _Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!_ echoed throughout the chamber. _Now… how to prove it?_

He watched Fudge literally rub his hands together and lean over the bench.

 _I'm going to incarcerate that filthy mudblood AND get the public off my back at the same time. It's perfect!_

Arthur recoiled at the offensive word, one which still made his stomach turn. He glanced again at the Wizengamot wizards, to see if they'd heard the word that reverberated in his skull, when suddenly a spotlight shone from the ceiling, directly on Fudge. Every head in the room whipped to stare at Fudge and the flowing purple robes he'd been wearing disappeared. He was standing naked in front of 50 of his colleagues with a raging erection. He couldn't seem to make his hands come up to cover himself, and when he opened his mouth to try and explain, his teeth started to fall out. They plinked harmlessly on the dias and Arthur heard a scream of terror rise from every corner of the room, even though no one had moved. He jerked backwards so hard, he tumbled out of the memory.

There was more, so much more, but Arthur lurched out of the Pensieve to awareness in Mal's office, nearly falling on his ass in his rush to get away. He had to brace himself on Mal's desk, chest heaving, trying to get a hold of himself enough to put the crazy swirling liquid back in its bottle.

"Merlin's balls, that was fucking awful," Arthur said, running a shaky hand down his face.

An annoyed sniff sounded somewhere above his head, and Arthur almost jumped out of his skin. He clutched his wand, swinging toward the sound, forcing his body and mind into the plateau of calm he could always reach in times of stress. Well, apparently, not always.

A circle of portraits of previous Hogwarts Headmasters and mistresses looked down at him, some with curiosity, some with amusement, but one with disdain. Professor McGonagall refused to meet his eyes, her nose upturned.

"I think that's quite enough of that kind of language in here, young man," she clipped, and Arthur felt the same pang of guilt his mom was so good at bringing out in him. He lowered his wand.

"My apologies, ma'am", he muttered. "Won't happen again."

"Is there something we can help with, son?" one of the older portraits asked, and Arthur couldn't find the strength needed to read the plaque that hung below his picture to catch his name. He sagged against the desk, trying to get a handle on the disgust he felt at the nightmare he'd just escaped. It would sound silly out loud, but was so very _real_ when he was in it.

"I don't…" Artur started, but paused when a thought struck him. "Hey," he said, glancing around the room, "where's Mal's portrait?"

The portraits all glanced at each other uncomfortably.

"We're not sure," came the drawling voice of Professor Snape, and Arthur turned to look at him. His black eyes met Arthur's with no hesitation, almost a challenge. Arthur raised an eyebrow and waited a full ten seconds.

"But usually it just…" Arthur fumbled, twirling his hand in the air, "appears?"

"Yes," Snape sneered, "it just… appears." His lip curled as he said the word, disdain dripping from every syllable.

Arthur frowned, not as much for the mocking as for the obvious deviance from the norm this situation illustrated. Hogwarts Headmasters and Headmistresses ended up on the wall when they passed. They were not chosen lightly, and Mal had been well respected and loved during her tenure at the school. She should be up there.

"What did you see, Arthur?" came a calm, wizened voice, and Arthur pivoted again, searching for the speaker. His eyes met clear blue ones and he stared into Dumbledore's concerned face.

He frowned again, this time in concentration. "I'm not sure," Arthur admitted. "It started out like a memory, but then ended up like… well, like a dream. A bad dream."

He saw multiple nods exchanged, like he'd confirmed something they'd been debating for quite some time.

"What does it mean?" Arthur asked, and for a few heavy seconds, he thought they weren't going to answer.

"We believe it may be a combination of both," Dumbledore finally responded. "In some, the thoughts were extracted while the subjects were asleep, so the dream aspect may be more pronounced. Is that what you experienced?"

"Merlin's… " Arthur caught himself just in time. "I mean, yes, some of it was crazy dream stuff and not what actually happened. But I could hear thoughts. How do I know for sure which parts were dream and which were real?"

The group of professors didn't answer him, just shifted and muttered amongst themselves. Arthur frowned, because if it was real, if _any_ of what he'd seen was real, it was the kind of thing that could topple empires. And the fact that Mal had an entire cupboard full of them was a sexy, dangerous thought.

He shoved himself away from the desk and used his wand to drag the silvery blue strands from the Pensieve. He deposited them in the glass vial, and pushed it back on the shelf. He ran his eyes once more over the rows and rows of bottles, his mind whirring, but as he was about to slide the rack back into the cupboard, a single word caught his eye and burned into his brain.

Eames.

It stared at him, the swirling sludge. It was a much smaller amount than Fudge's jar, probably only enough for one or two thoughts. Sexy, dangerous, empire-toppling thoughts.

It beckoned and revolted him at the same time, but, oh, it was so tempting. Arthur resolutely looked away from the bottle, sliding the rack back and sealing it all behind the cabinet doors. He had willpower. He would not spy on Eames, it was unnecessary. And he was a professional.

He tucked Mal's letter into his robes, pocketed his wand, and wound his way back to his quarters. His front door had barely swung shut before Arthur was hanging his robes and sinking into his creaky old desk chair with a groan. He levitated the parchment scroll and spun it with a finger, watching it rotate lazily while his mind worked. He had time. He didn't need to deal with this today, he could cross this bridge later.

"Much, much later," he muttered to himself.

"Arthur? Is that you?"

Arthur had his wand out before the parchment hit the desk, heart thudding but face calm as he spun toward the intruder. Except there was no intruder. He stood and made his way to the fireplace in the living room, where a familiar face poked out of the coals.

"Nash," Arthur frowned in greeting.

"Arthur, I received a very odd letter in my morning post from Mal, but now she's not answering. What the hell is going on over there?" Nash asked, getting straight to the point.

Arthur breathed out in a sigh that came all the way from his toes. "Nash…" he tried, then plowed a hand through his hair. "Jesus fuck. Okay. Nash."

Nash waited, just watching him, and Arthur forced himself into work mode. He straightened his shoulders, a natural scowl slipping into place and all feelings shoved to the back of his mind. He could do this.

"I believe I have a copy of the same letter," Arthur said. "Starts off, "I've recently completed work?"" He waited for Nash's nod. "If I tell you what's going on, can I ask you to sit on it for a little while?"

He could see Nash's annoyance. "I can't promise that, Arthur, this is my job. I can't just-"

"Mal's dead."

The words physically hurt to say, like they were being wrenched from his throat. The stunned silence that followed, however, didn't last quite as long as an announcement of that magnitude should have commanded.

"Holy hell, Arthur! I can't sit on that!"

"I know!" Arthur cut him off, annoyance and pain making his voice sharper than he'd intended. He tried to get a handle on himself again. "I know that, Nash. I mean the letter."

"Arthur…"

"Just give me a few days to figure out what she's talking about. Alright? You'll have enough to cover a few days without this. Do your fluff piece, talk to people who knew her, and give me a few days."

"Arthur-"

"Please, Steven." The pain in Arthur's voice leaked through, and Nash paused. "Please. If you ever cared about me at all, just… please. Okay?" He pleaded with the man in front of him, not above pushing on an old bruise just to see if it still hurt. "For God's sake… it's _Mal_."

Nash shut his eyes and Arthur relaxed. "Fine," Nash mumbled. "Fine, but a few days and then I want to know what the hell is going on. You got it?"

"Yeah," Arthur whispered, and Nash broke the connection without another word.

Arthur gritted his teeth so hard they creaked, and when his hand landed next to a vase on the mantelpiece, he had already picked it up and thrown it before he registered what he was about to do. It shattered against the wall in a messy spray.

"Damn it, Mal."


	5. Chapter 5

He'd been letting homework slide. He knew it and his students probably knew it too. He assigned less, which wasn't like him at all, and when they turned it in, he would let mostly-right answers go unchallenged. Arthur entered his bedroom, shuffling the stack of parchment that would be his night's activity, and dropped it with a sigh on the big wooden desk that faced his bed. He'd moved the desk there himself, from its original exile in the dark corner of the dining room, and he never regretted it. He'd spent so much time at it, reading, grading papers, talking to Mal.

He smiled. Before she had Phillipa, she used to stay for hours, sprawled elegantly on his bed listening to him rant about the new Transfiguration professor, or the new requirements handed down from the Ministry, or Eames's ridiculously unprofessional robes, until she fell asleep next to him on top of the covers. After the babies were born and their time was precious, he tried to keep the conversations light, bottling up the heavy ones until they almost choked him and they eventually spilled out, unbidden, anyway.

"It was not to be, _mon cher_ ," she said to him one afternoon when his messy breakup story finally escaped. It should have broken his heart, what was wrong with him that it didn't? "If it was right, it would hurt."

Arthur had snorted at that. "Sounds delightful, can't wait."

"I know," she'd said softly. And of course, she really did.

He sighed, remembering.

"Mal," he said to the empty room, "I don't know how he did it, but I'm pretty sure Jayden cheated on the pop quiz from this afternoon. And also, side note, how the fuck am I old enough to have a kid named _Jayden_ in my fucking class?" He scoffed. "And guess what I did yesterday?" he asked as he dropped the parchment on his desk. "Tore a hole in my new robes. Yeah, the pinstripe ones. And, of course, this is the week Twilfitt is out of town. And you know I wouldn't trust that hairy-snouted Madame Malkin as far as I could throw her. As if I could throw her."

He could almost hear Mal's tinkling laugh.

As he pulled off his robes and glanced longingly at his fresh sheets, he wondered why he was still doing this. Why was he still here, where she wasn't? Where was he supposed to be now that she wasn't next to him?

But talking to the empty air helped, imagining that Mal was there and listening and smiling. It eased the ache in his chest, that he seemed to carry with him everywhere.

"Oh yeah," he said, reaching for the quill he'd spotted, tucked in the back of his desk drawer, "it's been six days. He hasn't come to my planning period in _six days_. I'm getting so much shit done, you wouldn't believe."

He knew exactly what she'd say to that. "Yeah, shut up," he said, his smile small and sad.

"Dom looks like shit, you know," he continued settling in the chair and pulling the stack towards him. "I mean, worse than usual, even. He hasn't really been the same since… And they confiscated his wand. That'll make it interesting when he has to teach his class..."

His voice drifted off as he scribbled, correcting someone's counter-jinx spell. He tried to force himself to write another note, encouraging, uplifting, supportive.

"God damn you, Mal," he whispered. He jumped as the self-inking quill he'd been clutching snapped, spilling ink all over his hands. He hadn't realized he'd been holding it that tightly.

As he reached for his wand to spell his hands clean, someone knocked on his door. Arthur frowned but went to open it anyway.

An apologetic yet charming looking Eames stood on the other side. He had a rakish amount of stubble, which he hadn't had this morning, Arthur was sure.

"Arthur," Eames said.

"Eames," Arthur replied. His voice was more terse than he intended, and he scowled at himself.

"Hello," Eames smiled, and Arthur looked away from his mouth and realized he was clutching a small wooden box in his hands. "Can I come in?" Eames asked.

Arthur said nothing but stepped back in invitation, aiming a quick cleaning spell at his hands and doing a mental check of when he last used a cleaning spell on his rooms. He determinedly did _not_ look at the pile of books, papers and junk on his table that he should have cleared off months ago.

"Arthur!" Eames joked, looking right at the damned pile. "I didn't know you had it in you to leave something undone!" Eames's robes were almost a normal looking blue, except that they had tiny swimming fish that jumped whenever he moved his arms. It looked cheerful and out-of-place in Arthur's minimalist living room. He felt a sudden, irrational flash of annoyance at their sunny persona in his personal space. He was allowed to be sad here. He didn't get to anywhere else. And here was Eames, with his robes and his mouth and his teasing, like Arthur hadn't had a piece of himself ripped out and wasn't standing there with a gaping, ragged wound that wasn't healing.

"What can I help you with, Mr. Eames?"

Arthur had wanted to sound annoyed, but it came out thin and stretched. He swallowed and moved to the sideboard. "Can I offer you some tea?"

"No, actually," Eames said, shuffling the box in his hands. "Thank you, Arthur, but I came to give you this." He set it on the table, knocking it against the side in the process and then wincing at the sound. "Ah, whoops," he muttered, "there, I'll just…" Then he didn't seem to know what to do with his hands. Eventually he clasped them and didn't meet Arthur's eyes.

Arthur studied him for a few moments, not sure he'd ever seen Eames… quite like this before. "Thank you," he said. "Should I look at it now?"

Eames looked a little surprised, like he didn't think Arthur would want to and would just let it sit there for the next month along with the pile. Which _of course_ he wouldn't. He was going to clean up the stupid pile, probably as soon as Eames left.

"If you want to," he said.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him and walked past him to the table, their robes brushing in the small space. He lifted the hinged lid carefully and saw it was full of pictures. Mal's smiling face shone out at him from the top one, radiant in her Headmistress robes and hat which she wore for graduations. She waved cheerfully at Arthur and he felt his heart clench. "Oh," he breathed softly, letting the lid fall open and picking up the stack of pictures with reverence.

Eames moved closer, looking at the pictures over his shoulder. "That was two years ago," he commented. "The year we finally got rid of the Smythe twins."

Arthur's mouth curled up at that. "That's why she looks so happy," he said weakly, but Eames chuckled anyway. She really did look joyful. He hadn't realized how much she'd changed, just in the last two years. He carefully slid the picture behind all the others and revealed a slightly older one.

"God," he muttered, laughing. "I loved those robes. I had to throw them out when they got singed by some fourth year with shitty aim."

"I wondered what had happened to them," Eames murmured.

Arthur glanced back down at the photo. He and Mal were in front of the main door of Hogwarts to welcome their newest Professor, Charles Eames, who'd shown up with a camera and taken photos like a tourist. He watched the photo of himself scowl and arch a brow, while Mal managed to look gracious and welcoming at his side. He wondered what Eames had thought of him that first day.

He flipped to the next one, a shot of him and Mal serving punch at the Yuletide Ball, and then one of a very pregnant Mal dancing with Dom while Arthur stood with Phillipa in the background.

"I was going to give you my pictures of Mal, but it turns out you're in most of them," Eames said, closer than Arthur had realized, "so really they should be yours anyway."

Arthur kept flipping through the photographs, each one precious. A still, Muggle-style one of Mal giving the beginning of term announcement, her profile in sharp contrast. One of the Cobb kids, with Mal a fuzzy blur in the background and Dom's hands around James's middle, making him dance. When he got to the closeup of him and Mal, her sly smirk saying something that made him throw his head back, his dimples on embarrassing display, he felt his throat tighten. God, look at him. He'd been laughing. He didn't remember this moment, but with Mal's enchanting smile, he could just hear her saying something inappropriate and snarky under her breath and punching a laugh out of him exactly when he shouldn't be laughing. He'd done it to her enough times. He fingered the photo's worn edges with a sad smile.

The last one was the biggest, and when he flipped to it, he saw the full Hogwarts staff in their black professor's robes standing in front of the main staircase at the end of last term. Mal was in the middle, in her graduation hat and favorite heels, with Dom on one side of her and Arthur on the other. Eames himself was two down from him, his regulation black robes flashing rebelliously with iridescent swirls if you looked long enough. Mal's face was thinner, and more determined in this one. She had a stark, haunted look to her, but Arthur wondered if that was hindsight talking. He felt a hot sting of tears crowd his throat, tears that he had managed to punch down every time they threatened, but he didn't think he was going to be able to this time. His hand shook a bit. His throat worked, and worked, and Eames took a step back.

"Darling," Eames said softly, "Arthur… I'm sorry. I thought-"

"No, they're perfect," Arthur cut him off. His voice held every tear he'd been avoiding, and Eames heard them all. He stepped back into Arthur's space, and suddenly Arthur couldn't take it any more. He was not equipped to handle whatever the hell his emotions were doing because he either wanted to punch Eames or push him up against a wall. He dropped the photos back into the box and turned, and Eames was right there, too close and not close enough. Arthur swallowed again, trying to make his voice sound normal. "Eames," he said, his voice low, "thank you."

Arthur was so ratcheted up, he swore his senses were heightened. He watched Eames's pupils dilate and his throat bob as he swallowed, nodding. A tight flick of Eames's tongue over his lips made Arthur blink, and when Eames took a step back, looking anywhere but at him, Arthur took one forward. He had only a tenuous grasp on his control, like a small twang might cause it to snap and he would do something crazy, and greedy, and unwise. He wondered what it would take.

Slowly, like squeezing a trigger, Arthur took one more step. Now there was a hair's breadth between them, and Arthur teetered on the knife's edge. Eames's breath stuttered into Arthur's face. "Arthur," he breathed, closing his eyes.

Arthur reveled in the heady surge of power that whispered word gave him and raised his hand to Eames's stubbled face. He ghosted his fingers along Eames's jawline then around the back of his neck. Then he leaned forward, inch by agonizing inch, until he could feel Eames's breath on his lips. Eames's eyelids fluttered up far enough that he could watch Arthur through his lashes, and Arthur slowed down even more. Millimeter by millimeter he descended, holding Eames just so and dragging out the tension between them. When Arthur's tongue dashed out to wet his lips, they caught the slightest touch of Eames's as well.

"Bloody hell," Eames growled, and Arthur didn't know which of them moved forward first to crash their mouths together.

Arthur kissed Eames recklessly, without thought. He ran his hands through his hair, rasped his palms against his stubble. He kissed him with a hunger that frightened him a little, sucking at those lips he'd been dreaming about for five years. He heard a groan of satisfaction and realized it was his own.

The sound surprised him and he almost clamped down on it, but then he realized: Mal wasn't here. This wasn't Mal, he didn't need to shield his own thoughts even from himself. This was _Eames_ , pressed up against him, letting Arthur kiss him, and if he was only going to get this once, by God he was going to fucking enjoy it. The click of the coiled spring inside him releasing was almost audible. Arthur felt unwound, dangerous. Sexy.

Arthur tilted his head and licked into Eames's mouth, messily and with abandon. He slid a knee in between Eames's thighs and ran his hands down Eames's sides to grasp his delectable ass and pull it towards him. This time, they both groaned, Arthur's loud and wanton, and he wasn't sure, but Eames might have groaned again when he heard it.

"Darling," Eames broke the kiss to murmur and Arthur attacked his stubbled jawline with his lips and teeth, "are you sure you want this?"

"Yes," Arthur answered without hesitation, his lips tracing Eames's neck now. "Make me feel good, Eames." He opened his mouth where Eames's neck met his collar and bit him. "Please," he said, "I want to feel good again." He soothed the spot with his tongue, teasing, promising, and Eames leaned into it for a heartbeat, but then stiffened.

"Arthur," he breathed, and Arthur ignored him in favor of moving to his earlobe. He could feel Eames's answering shiver, but still he pulled away. He found Arthur's eyes and asked, "Is that all you want from me?"

"Um," Arthur said, the fog of lust clouding his brain breaking up a bit. "Yes?" He dipped his head again to try and capture Eames's lips, but it was the wrong move because Eames jerked his hands back from him like he'd been burned and backed up a step. Arthur caught himself before he could overbalance into him, blinking into Eames's carefully neutral face.

"Eames-"

"Apologies, Arthur. This is my fault. This was terrible timing." He sounded strained, but he looked calm and collected. Arthur, on the other hand, felt completely exposed.

"No, Eames, I-"

"I didn't realise you'd think that's what this was," Eames said, and his tone left no room for argument. "Believe me when I tell you that it might actually kill me to do this, but this is... I don't do one-night stands, and you are clearly not in a place to decide what it is you really want."

"I-" Arthur gaped at him. Gone was the teasing, laughing Eames. The one in front of him looked almost angry.

Eames stepped away and the space between them was vast. He headed for the door but before he left he turned once more. "You deserve better than that. And I hope, one day, you'll let yourself have it. Goodbye, Arthur."

And then he was gone, and Arthur couldn't really be surprised by the way his throat constricted or by the hot flood of tears that finally found their way up and wouldn't stop.


	6. Chapter 6

" _Trouble at Hogwarts? What aren't they telling us?"_

The screamy headline jumped out at him from the front page of the Daily Prophet and Arthur's fingers clenched involuntarily. He forced them to uncurl so he could read the article and smoothed the paper on the teacher's table in the Great Hall. He ate his breakfast woodenly, not tasting a thing, and read the article twice. Then the whole paper. Then the article again. He looked around the Hall, but no one was paying attention to him. Fucking Nash. The article offered no concrete information, simply claiming that "possibly, there's trouble, but we don't know anything for sure." It sold newspapers, Arthur supposed, but he knew exactly what Nash was doing. He gritted his teeth and checked his watch. He'd have to wait until his planning period to contact Nash.

The morning classes dragged on but when the classroom door closed behind the last student, Arthur left their unmarked homework scattered on his desk headed quickly back to his rooms. Then he grabbed a pinch of powder and knelt on the rug, gritting his teeth so hard when he spoke Nash's name into the fireplace he was surprised to see the correct office actually appear.

"Nash!" Arthur called angrily. He waited for the other man's face to appear, scowling all the while.

"Arthur," came the calm reply, "I was hoping you might be dropping in to chat today."

"Nash, you can't just print shit like that. You'll cause riots."

Nash rolled his eyes, his angular face contorted into a sneer. "Oh, you know I love it when you're dramatic Arthur, but I had to get your attention somehow. Otherwise how will I ever hold you to our arrangement?"

Arthur paused, his mind working. "I've been trying to corroborate Mal's claims from the letter," he said cautiously. "I haven't had much time to-"

"So does she have them?" Nash interrupted. "The thoughts?"

Arthur hesitated and Nash's triumphant face told him his non-answer was answer enough. "I found some, yes," he admitted, "but this is going to take some time, Steven. The information is… sensitive. And unreliable at best."

"Christ, Arthur, do you realize what you're saying?" The glee in Nash's voice was sickening. "The Headmistress of Hogwarts was literally stealing ideas out of people's heads?!"

"I didn't say that, Nash, you did!" Arthur snapped. He took a breath but his frown stayed. "You owe it to Mal to fully investigate this before you report _anything_. You need to promise me that you will not go after this story until you have the full picture, do you understand me?"

"I don't have to promise you anything, Arthur. You made that abundantly clear, remember? And I don't owe Mal, it sounds like _you_ do. Is there anything else I should add about your relationship with her?"

"What the actual fuck, Steven? No! You know better than that," Arthur said, his frustration taking over the conversation more than he would have liked. "Listen, this isn't about us. I would be having this conversation with whoever the editor of The Daily Prophet was, and they would owe it to Mal too. But it's more than that. You owe it to the people, the wizarding community at large, to get this right. Because if you're wrong, it'll take down more than just Mal. More than me. More than you."

Nash didn't reply right away, and Arthur clutched the thread of hope that silence brought.

"Fine," Nash finally allowed. "But I want your cooperation with this. I plan on coming to see what you've found."

"I'm not making any promises about my cooperation," Arthur said, his voice tight as he ignored the sharp bark of laughter from Nash, "but I'll do what I can. You'll need to wait until this weekend. We have a short break coming up, and a lot of the kids will be going home. That would be better."

"For you, maybe. I've got a daily edition to put out."

Arthur snorted, making Floo powder puff around his face. "You weren't going to make the weekend paper with this anyway, trust me."

"No, I don't really do that anymore, Arthur," Nash said, somewhere between calm and smug.

Arthur rolled his eyes and cut the connection without responding. If Nash wanted to pretend he was some jilted maiden, he was welcome to his little fantasy world. Arthur had better things to do.

He brushed the Floo powder from his hair as best he could, but his robes were a lost cause. He had tried to spell them clear of the ash but in his haste ended up making a bigger mess. He would need to ask the house elves later to work their magic. He headed back to his classroom in his shirt and tie, his mind so focused on the conversation he almost didn't notice the flash of paisley robes ahead of him in the hall.

Arthur almost called out to him. It was on the tip of his tongue to do so, but the humiliation from the night before flashed in his mind, and he swallowed it. So Eames had picked today to start visiting him again, huh? Well, it served him right to think that Arthur had better things to do. Because he did.

On paper, Dom was in charge. He was listed as the Deputy Headmaster, although he was in no fit state to help with anything. He was supposed to be the one running things until the Board of Governors met next month to accept his appointment as Headmaster. In reality, Arthur was struggling to keep it all together, because he would do anything for the Cobbs, and he didn't relish the idea of thousands of eyes on Hogwarts, not with the bottles he knew were hidden in Mal's office. Arthur had his own work, which was getting more lax all the time, but Mal's outline of her own duties was shaky, even with the help he was getting from the portraits. Between that and checking on Cobb and the kids, Arthur was feeling stretched.

He entered his classroom with one last look at the figure walking away from him and tried to roll his shoulders down. He had papers to grade, and only… shit, 20 minutes to do it.

Except that when he reached his desk at the front of the class, the homework parchments were stacked neatly, and he could see the red ink marking the first one. Cautiously, he turned the stack towards himself and read the absurdly accurate corrections regarding the student's uses of newt's eyes as a defense tool. Then he recognized the handwriting was his own. For a moment, Arthur couldn't understand how he'd had time to do this and not remember it, before he blinked.

"Eames," he said, remembering the swirl of paisley on its way down the hall.

He'd graded all of them, and in less time than it usually took Arthur. And he'd done it without asking. Arthur supposed he should be insulted or annoyed, and maybe later he would be. But for now, the gesture just made him feel relieved. How had Eames known?

Arthur looked down at himself-no robes, hair mussed and curling crazily from where he'd tousled it, and ink stains all over his hands-and he realized everyone probably knew. Still, Eames had given him 20 minutes. It was probably the nicest thing anyone could have done for him at that moment. Arthur sat behind his desk and took the first deep breath he'd taken all day. He took a moment to flip through his next lesson plan, which he sorely needed, and eat one of the sweets he'd confiscated from a student the previous period, which he also, he admitted to himself, sorely needed. And his mind wandered, and he spent his stolen minutes dredging up long-forgotten daydreams of warm exotic places and cool hotel sheets, which he also sorely needed.

The next day, when he went for lunch at the Great Hall, there was a box of chocolate cauldrons sitting by his place. They were his favorite. He had a pretty good idea who they were from, but he couldn't be sure they weren't from Ophelia who had, Arthur finally agreed, been staring moonily up at him during class the last few days. The thought made his stomach churn and he knew he couldn't eat them. He decided to take them to James and Phillipa after classes so they wouldn't go to waste.

Going to the Cobb residence was painful, but Arthur expected nothing less. He made himself go anyway a few times a week, because he knew Mal would want it. So he steeled himself and knocked, hoping to hear the tumble of two children fighting to open the door, but it never came. Miles opened the door and Arthur smiled and shook his hand.

"I just brought some sweets for the kids. Are they here?"

"Sure, sure, they're in their room," Miles assured him. "Now, they haven't had their supper yet, but I won't tell if you won't."

Arthur chuckled and headed back. When he found them playing separately in their room, a listless gloom in the air, Arthur wanted to sob and hug them. The poor things had lost a mom, and Christ, he loved those kids.

"Hey kiddos!" he said and was relieved when their heads bobbed up and smiles appeared.

"Arfur!"

"Arthur!"

"I brought you guys something. Think you can share?" At their excited nods, he brought out the chocolate cauldrons and they squealed, clapping their hands. "Now, I know you haven't had your dinner yet, but I won't tell if you won't." They nodded and he handed them one each. "We'll save the rest for later."

James spent quite a while dragging Arthur to various toys in the room to show him how they worked, all the while getting progressively more smeared in chocolate. Phillipa sat and ate hers neatly, feet swinging and her blonde ponytail bouncing. Arthur watched her as he swiped at James's hands and face with a handkerchief.

"So, kiddo, how is school going?"

"Oh, I don't have to go for a while cuz my mama died," she said, and her words were so honest and straightforward and heartbreaking.

"Yeah," Arthur said around the lump in his throat. "I know. I'm sorry that happened."

She nodded solemnly. "Me too. I miss her."

Arthur swallowed. "Me too." He offered her the handkerchief and when she'd carefully removed the chocolate from her fingers and lips he hugged her, kissing the top of her head. "Want to know a secret?" he whispered, and both kids perked up. "Sometimes, when I miss her a lot, I talk to her like she can still hear me."

"Does she talk back?" James whispered, his eyes wide.

"No, but it makes me feel better. And lots of times, I feel like I know what she would say to me anyway. For example," he took one of each of their hands in his, "if you said, "I love you Mama", she would say…"

"I love you too, _ma chérie_ ," James and Phillipa answered in unison.

Arthur smiled a watery smile at them. "Yeah, she would." They smiled back. "Come on, let's go find your dad."

When Arthur found Dom, he was sitting at a desk, deep in a copy of the Finneganet. He closed it when Arthur entered, one kid on each side of him. Dom looked haggard, but no one could blame him for that. On top of his wife dying, a few nights in Azkaban, even just in holding, would have that effect.

The kids didn't fidget or complain, just sat meekly while Arthur tried to talk about school and classes with Dom. On his last visit, Arthur had dropped off a few things for Dom to look at. He'd hoped it would remind him that people needed him, but he saw them sitting untouched on a pile in the corner.

"Hey guys, why don't you go wash up and see if Miles is ready for supper?" Arthur asked James and Phillipa, and they filed silently out of the room. Arthur watched them go before turning to Dom. "Phillipa said she isn't going to school. How long is that going to last?"

Dom sighed. "Oh come on, Arthur, give me a break." He sounded exhausted and Arthur just couldn't bring himself to push.

"Alright," he said, holding his hands up in surrender. "But I can talk to Miles about it if you don't have a plan. I'm good at plans," Arthur said.

"I know. You're the best." Cobb sounded wistful and sad, so Arthur stood and left, calling goodbye to Miles and the kids from the door.

"They're really quiet around him, Mal," Arthur confided when he was safely back in his room. "I'm sure they'll be fine, you know how kids are. If it's just me in the room, they talk more and James will show me his things, like he always does. But if Dom is around… it's like he's sucking the life out of them. It's like they know they're not supposed to be happy if he's there."

Arthur drug his hand through his hair and tugged his tie off. "Sorry, Mal, I shouldn't be laying all this on you. Wait," Arthur paused in disrobing and putting his pajamas on. "What the fuck am I saying? Merlin's balls, Arthur, get yourself together."

Arthur shook his head at himself and finished climbing into bed. He leaned against the wall, relishing the cool firmness against his back, and tucked his hand under the pillow. He gazed at the empty space beside him. "You know…" he said softly, then sighed. "I think Eames is doing nice things for me, and I don't know what to do about it." He paused, imagining Mal's laughter ringing in the small space. "Alright, alright, I know what _you'd_ do about it. But…" he paused, embarrassed, and then forged ahead. Who was going to hear him? It wasn't as if Mal was actually listening. "I don't think he wants that. I mean, he wants _that_. I could tell. There's things robes can conceal and then there's things they can't, if you know what I mean. But I don't know what he wants from me." Arthur sighed again. "I practically threw myself at him, I said I didn't have any expectations, and he pushed me away. So if he wants that, and I want that, why am I staring at an empty pillow?" There was no answer to that one. He took a deep breath and pushed it out, trying to relax. "Good night, Mal."

When Arthur woke, it was to a soft tapping at his door. He shrugged off sleep, hoping to Merlin it wasn't a student, and opened it. It was a house elf brandishing a box.

"Begging your pardon, Professor," he snuffled. "A delivery."

"Thank you," Arthur said, distracted by the long, thin case. Too short to be a wand, too long to be chocolate, light… "Hey, wait," he called the house elf back, "who is this from?"

The house elf looked nervous. "Begging your pardon, Professor, but he didn't want me to say."

Arthur relaxed slightly. "That's okay, thanks." At least it wasn't Ophelia. He closed the door and set the box on his desk, contemplating.

"What do you think, Mal?" he asked the empty room. "I don't know what he's doing either. Should I open it?"

Arthur contemplated, drawing a slim finger down the line of the box. It was plain, a dark green color, a heavier cardboard that had no inscription on it. "I'll wait. It'll give me something to look forward to, I guess." Then he hurried to get ready, because it seemed he never had enough time anymore.

Dom's Occlumency class had been temporarily cancelled, and the students had been shuffled to a "study period", but they couldn't stay there forever. They would have NEWTs and OWLs to take, and if Dom couldn't perform his duties, Arthur would need to find a replacement. He had assumed the Board of Governors would appoint Dom as Headmaster when they met next month, that's what usually happened. It was a formality for the most part, the official appointment, but if word got out how wrecked Dom really was, he had no idea what they'd do. Arthur headed to the Headmaster's Tower on the off chance Mal had left any notes about Dom's possible replacements. It seemed like she had planned out quite a few things before she jumped. Maybe that was one of them.

Once past the gargoyle, he stared at the circle of portraits, every one of which was looking back at him, and he changed his mind. "I have a few questions," he started, "and I was hoping you'd be able to help me."

"Speak," snipped Snape, and Arthur turned to him.

"I need to know what you can tell me about Mal's last few months, what she was doing, who she was talking to, that kind of thing."

"My dear boy," Snape drawled, "what do you _think_ she was doing? Use your brain, it's up there somewhere, I'm sure."

Arthur frowned, thinking. "The thoughts, obviously, she was going into convulsions on a pretty regular basis. But what was she doing in between that?"

Snape frowned back at him. "More of the same, I'm afraid. She didn't go into convulsions every time, and she managed to pull quite a few of the memories in the last month alone."

"Did you have any idea she was going to do this?"

No one answered. No one needed to, really. Arthur felt ashamed for even asking, because of course they would have told someone if there'd been an indication. He cleared his throat.

"I mean, did you have any idea what she was going to do with all the thoughts? Did she discuss it at all?"

Professor McGonagall answered him this time. "Not with us, Professor. She was very professional in this room. She didn't often ask for advice and never talked just to talk. In her last months, she neither contacted anyone out of the ordinary nor conducted business that wasn't 100% appropriate. The only exception was the thoughts, and she didn't indicate to us what they were, we just assumed."

"Professor," Arthur started, cautiously, "when you hired Mal, you knew her abilities. Is that why you wanted her to teach?"

"I didn't hire a teacher, I hired a replacement," McGonagall said matter-of-factly. "I knew that I was dying, and I needed a leader. Someone with a strong sense of self, someone who trusted her own instincts, and someone who wasn't tenured in this school. We needed a breath of fresh air."

Arthur half smiled. "Yeah, Mal was definitely that." He moved to Mal's desk, staying on his side of it because it felt wrong to sit on her side. The straight-backed chairs were uncomfortable as hell, which was the point, and Arthur found himself staring compulsively at the lurking cupboard again. He rose and opened the door, half expecting the previous Headmasters and Mistresses to object, but they said nothing. The rows of gleaming vials were almost hypnotic with their swirling sludge, strangely beautiful in the dimming light. Arthur found bottle after bottle with names he recognized, living wizards and witches that he'd worked with and talked to, seen in the street or bought something from. Some he had never heard of, but was positive that a quick search through the Finneganet would reveal some kind of connection to a position of power. He tried to do a quick calculation to figure out how many bottles were there but quit when he realized that some names were duplicated. With the lure of Fudge's memory still emblazoned in his head, he started to slide the door closed again before he could be tempted. He stopped short, though, when he saw his own name. He plucked the bottle from the shelf, the glass cool against his suddenly sweaty palm. Surely this wasn't a violation. This belonged to him. Acknowledging the excitement jumping in his gut, he admitted the lure of that knowledge was strong, even though it was knowledge he should already possess. With a jolt, he realized he should have started with his own, as a control group for accuracy and relevancy on other thoughts.

"Stupid, Arthur, that would have helped," he grumbled at himself. He pulled the Pensieve towards himself and emptied the bottle, shaking it to make sure every drop was deposited in the basin.

"Careful with that, sonny," came a wavery voice above him. "You don't know-"

"These are mine," Arthur broke in, his tone defensive. "It'll give me an idea how accurate all the other thoughts are." There was no response, but he was positive the portraits were all awake. With a wave of some mixture of anticipation and trepidation, he took his reflexive deep breath and plunged in.

The odd familiarity of his rooms was almost boring in its normality. Of course, he wasn't likely to be leading the Wizengmot anytime soon, so that was probably where he would most likely be found. It was a memory, actually, and he heard voices from his bedroom, so he went to investigate. Inside, he saw himself sitting at his desk, tipped up on the back two legs of his chair and familiar notebook forgotten in his hands. Mal lay on the bed opposite him, her elegant sprawl making his throat ache. They were just talking, like they always had, school and kids and Dom. Then Arthur heard his own thoughts blared as a backdrop to the conversation, an unforgiving auditory self-portrait.

"Yes," Mal was saying, "but he's been so helpful recently, it just feels… ugh, sometimes I just need a break."

 _That's because he's not good enough for you._

Aloud, Arthur said, "Well, you came to the right place."

Mal gave him a knowing look. "Ah, yes, _cher_ , I know I can always come to you."

"Yeah, you know me. I'm always here for you. And Dom is good with the kids. He loves them to death and they love him."

 _It's, like, his one redeeming quality._

"I know," she said, sitting up. "But enough about me and my love life. What about yours?"

Suddenly there was a loud, rhythmic thumping sound, amplified almost beyond recognition. Arthur looked around until he saw the thinly veiled look of panic on the Arthur in front of him and became aware it was his heartbeat thudding in his ears.

"You know I don't have a love life right now," memory Arthur said out loud. "Steven and I broke up, what, two months ago?"

Mal hummed thoughtfully. " _Oui_ , but who do you _want_ to be in your love life right now, _mon cher_?"

 _Don't ask me that, don't ask me that, don't ask me that._

"Don't ask me that, Mal," he said out loud.

 _Because I don't want to admit that I think about him all the time, I can't stop, it's driving me fucking nuts._

Mal held her hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, I won't pry. But, you know, life isn't forever. You must act. Don't you want a lover? Don't you want to know what it means to be half of a whole?"

 _Yes._

Arthur rolled his eyes and thunked his chair back on the floor. "No."

Then the scene shifted, and Arthur was no longer sitting behind his desk. Mal was nowhere in sight. Instead, he and Eames were entwined on a bed he'd never seen before, a view of an azure ocean out the open balcony door. They were locked together in ecstasy, moans and the scent of hibiscus and sex filling the air.

"Christ," Arthur said, watching his fantasy play out in front of him, half embarrassed and half turned on. Eames cradled the fantasy Arthur in his arms, driving into him and whispering his name with reverence. When Arthur watched himself flip them over and straddle Eames's lap, writhing wantonly, he buried his face in his hands and groaned, "Enough, enough, I got it." It was embarrassing enough that Mal had seen this.

The moans and whispered words continued for a few more minutes, Arthur risking a peek now and then to see a sweat coated thigh, or Eames's head thrown back. It finally ended in apparent satisfaction on both sides and Arthur blinked at the change of scenery. He recognized Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour in Diagon Alley. The shop was empty except for Arthur and Eames, tucked into a back booth and snuggled onto the same side. They were sharing a sundae and feeding each other bites off the same spoon.

"Ew," Arthur muttered to himself, edging closer so he could hear them.

Eames nuzzled the Arthur in front of him. "This was such a good idea, sweetheart, I'm so glad you thought of it."

 _He's so perfect, he's so smart, he's so wonderful._

The Arthur pressed to Eames's side, blushed, and brushed a kiss across Eames's lips. "Me too, honey, anything to spend time with you."

Arthur gaped at them. "Ew," he said again.

Eames chuckled. "You know I can't get enough of you. Here, have some whipped cream." He scooped some out with his finger.

The dream Arthur giggled and swatted Eames' hand away. "Not on my nose, asshole!"

"Holy gallons of dragon dung," Arthur groaned. "What am I listening to?" He watched them with something between trepidation and nausea. "Seriously, what the fuck?"

"But you look even more delicious now!" Eames said, taking a playful lick at dream Arthur's nose.

 _Not as delicious as you._

"Not as delicious as you, my love," he said aloud.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Well, at least my thought process is solid."

"I love you," Eames murmured, and Arthur pretended there wasn't a shiver that worked its way down his spine when he heard that.

Dream Arthur smiled with adoration. "I love you more."

"I love you most," Eames gushed.

"Oh, for the love of Merlin's tighty whiteys, I am going to vomit, I swear," Arthur said loudly. "Change it, change it quick."

Unfortunately the thought sequence didn't listen to him and he had to migrate to the other side of the parlour to avoid the sugary sweet nothings he and Eames appeared to be whispering to each other. He didn't leave entirely, though, because Eames was wearing a _fantastic_ set of robes, ones he's pretty sure he saw in Tattings latest line. And they looked damn good on him.

Eventually though, the scene shifted again, this time to a soundless montage of being honored by students and teachers, having an Order of Merlin awarded to him, although for what it wasn't apparent, and coming home at night to back rubs and foot massages from Eames. It was… weird. When Arthur finally tumbled out of the Pensieve and back into Mal's office, he had to sit in the uncomfortable chair again to get his bearings.

"What did you see, young man?" one of the portraits asked him, and he shook his head until he could reply.

He took a deep breath and wiped his palms on his robes. "It started off with a memory, but I could hear what I was thinking. Then it moved into… ah, a fantasy," Arthur knew he was blushing and pushed on. "Then, I don't know what. I don't think they were dreams; I don't remember having those dreams."

"The memory," questioned Dumbledore. "Was that accurate?"

"Yes, I believe so. It was a while ago, but even if it wasn't verbatim, it was accurate. I remember having those thoughts, and Mal might have picked up on them at the time."

"Even with your Occlumency shields in place?" Dumbledore challenged.

Arthur frowned but directed it at the floor out of respect. "You didn't know her like I did. I had shields up _all the time_. And it still wasn't enough to keep her out sometimes. It wasn't her fault; she didn't try to hear things. She told me once that some people were "shouters", and I was one of them, especially when I felt strongly about something. I am one of the best Occlumens, probably second only to Dom, and she still knew more about me than-" Arthur paused. "Shit. Than I knew about myself," he finished, his eyes wide. "What if…"

"What if she found hidden desires buried in your subconscious?" Dumbledore supplied. "Doubtful, that isn't how Legilimency works."

"Not normally, no," Arthur said, "but this isn't normal." He swept his arm toward the cupboard and its rows and rows of subconscious desires, panic rising in his gorge.

"Professor," Dumbledore rumbled, and Arthur felt chastised from that one word. "The rest of the things you saw. Were they accurate?"

"No," Arthur asserted, but then blushed again. "Well, the… um, fantasy part was mine, but not the rest. At least, I don't think so. None of that was stuff I want, it was too… I don't know."

Snape rolled his eyes so hard Arthur could see it in his peripheral view. "Young man, I definitely do _not_ want details, but perhaps some specificity would be helpful." Snape drew out every syllable of the word, his clipped vowels sharp in the quiet room.

"Specificity. Uh, right," Arthur said. "Well, the scenes I saw were fantasies I never pictured I would have. They were very… domestic. Settle down, white-picket-fences type of stuff."

"And you don't find that," Snape sneered, "desirable?"

Arthur glared in annoyance. "If we're talking about desires, I figured I'd have something along the lines of duels and gunfights, maybe some heists and international criminal activity. You know, something… _exciting_."

"Well," Professor McGonagall's portrait said with finality, "either there was a flaw in Headmistress Cobb's extraction technique or she really does know you better than you know yourself. There's no use debating it now. Either way, we won't have a definitive answer without further information."

There was an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of Arthur's stomach at her words. "Right, I think I know a way we can get more information. Steven Nash is coming during the break to see… this," he said, gesturing vaguely at the Pensieve, "so there will be a chance to corroborate our findings."

The portraits all but exploded with outrage, grumbling, and concern. "You mean Nash, that slimy troll from The Daily Prophet?" said one of the portraits.

"He's not a slimy troll," Arthur started, then backtracked. "Okay, he's a slimy troll, but Mal sent him a copy of the letter explaining her "life's work", and he's been badgering me ever since. I had to tell him something. What if I just show him…" Arthur went to the cupboard, rifling through bottles until he found the one he was looking for, "his own? That way he can see exactly what Mal had access to from afar, and we can hopefully find out how accurate it is."

"I suppose we will see," came Snape's disdainful drawl.


	7. Chapter 7

The box was still on his desk when he got back to his rooms that night. After a day of classes and the stress of the circle of Headmasters, it looked like a balm in the shape of a dark green rectangle. Arthur sat on the edge of his bed and looked at it as he fought with himself. On one hand, Eames hadn't even revealed that the gifts were from him, although of course they were. On the other, Arthur wasn't sure exactly what Eames was trying to say. By accepting them, what was he conveying?

"Mal, tell me what to do," Arthur said to the room. He sighed, stood, and opened the box. There was a slight sucking sensation when he pulled the lid off, and a puff of tissue paper to remove, but below that sat the most gorgeous quill he'd ever seen. Arthur sat the lid on the desk and didn't quite dare to touch the contents. It was sleek and beautiful with a gilded tip and smoothed finger grooves. He knew without holding it that it would have perfect balance. He drew a finger over it reverently before picking it up, and in his hand it was, without a doubt, perfection. It must have cost an asinine amount of money.

As soon as that thought crossed his mind, he knew he couldn't keep the quill. He didn't know what Eames wanted from him, and it was because of that he had to give it back. Arthur settled the quill back in the box, attempting to recreate the tissue paper puff, and checked his watch. It was late, but he needed to talk to Eames.

He knew where his rooms were, the castle wasn't _that_ big. But he'd never knocked on this particular door, and he felt a churn of butterflies waiting for the answer. The butterflies didn't quiet as Eames cracked the door. They got worse as Eames recognized him and opened it all the way.

Eames didn't say hello, just looked Arthur over from head to toe, taking in the box in his hands as well as Arthur's lack of robes. Arthur had forgotten he'd removed them and felt the lack of additional layers keenly under the Metamorphmagus's stare.

"Didn't you like it?" Eames asked, and Arthur startled, not sure what he was talking about. Eames nodded to the box in his hands.

"Oh," Arthur said, holding it out awkwardly, but Eames didn't take it. "No, I liked it, of course I liked it. But I can't… look, can I come inside?"

"Of course," Eames answered smoothly and stepped back to let Arthur enter. He looked completely comfortable in his t-shirt and trousers, at home in every sense. Arthur took a quick look around the rooms, the same shape and layout as his own, but so wildly different he might have been on another planet. The front room had a fireplace on one end, just as his did, but instead of chairs bracketing it, Eames had a sinfully plush rug. On the other end, where Arthur kept a dining table and chairs, Eames's king-size bed sat squat and heavy. The wooden four posters almost reached the ceiling, and it felt almost obscene to walk into what was obviously his bedroom. Arthur wanted to apologize for snooping even though he hadn't done anything but walk in the front door.

Eames must have noticed his discomfort but said nothing. Arthur cleared his throat and tried to look annoyed instead of blushing like a middle schooler.

"So, I think we should talk," Arthur stated. "We left it kind of… awkwardly, and I'm not really sure what to do with this…" He gestured with the quill box.

"You keep it, naturally," Eames explained.

Arthur glared. "I can't keep this Eames, it must have cost a small fortune. And besides, I don't know why you're doing this."

"It really didn't and because I want to. Now," Eames drawled, "was there something else?"

Arthur scowled to cover his loss for words. "What are you doing, Mr. Eames? First the papers, then the chocolate, now this quill?"

"Did you know you do that?" Eames asked, changing the subject.

Arthur was taken aback. "Do what?"

"This," Eames said, then morphed his face into a startlingly accurate replica of Arthur's, complete with scowl and forehead crease.

Arthur blinked. "Wow," he breathed before he could stop himself. "Wait, do I really look like that?" he frowned at his frown lines.

Eames laughed, and to Arthur's relief it was still Eames's voice that said, "You really do, darling. But I must say, I like this look better." He pointed to his smiling cheeks, dimples and all. Arthur couldn't help but duck his head and smile too. When he looked back up it was Eames's face again, his charming, crooked smile and Arthur thought, " _Oh, I am in trouble."_ It was the kind of thought that Mal would yell at him for shouting, and he only managed to clamp down on it at the last second before remembering that it didn't matter anymore.

"Now, see, _that_ ," Eames said, pointing his finger in Arthur's face. "That is a face that I don't know what to do with."

Arthur gave him a semi-sad smile and pushed his finger away. "Shut up. It's just my face."

Eames dropped his finger but still asked, "What were you thinking about just then?"

And Arthur, still reeling from the freedom and simultaneous untethered feeling of not having to censor his thoughts from himself, told him the truth. "Mal."

"Hmm," Eames hummed, moving away from Arthur and through the rooms. "You know, that's why we left things 'awkwardly', as you put it."

Arthur felt himself frown at Eames's back and made himself stop. "What do you mean?" he asked, following.

Eames ended up in the kitchen, which was in the same place as the kitchen in Arthur's rooms because you couldn't exactly make it anything else. Arthur caught a glimpse of the room that would have been his bedroom, but except for a few shapes under sheets, Eames's appeared mostly empty.

Eames was making tea, apparently. He moved about the kitchen confidently, his sock-covered feet silent on the floor. "Mal. You think about her quite a lot."

Arthur shrugged. "She's my best friend. Was, I mean. We've known each other a long time."

Eames watched him as he spelled the water to boiling then added it to the cups. "Arthur," he said, "funeral sex is always rebound sex, no matter the relationship. I wasn't going to do that to you, or to me." He set the cup in front of Arthur, then settled next to him with his own. Arthur thought about that for a long time, drinking his tea in the somehow comforting silence.

He sat at Eames's breakfast nook watching him blow across the top of his tea, sipping quietly and letting Arthur think as loud as he wanted. It was… nice. Arthur felt a fissure in himself and suddenly words came spilling out.

"Mal was really powerful, you know. She didn't try, but she said I was a shouter, and I found myself burying my thoughts for a long time." Arthur shrugged. "I don't have to anymore, and it's a little relief and a lot of guilt whenever that registers."

"Ah, I see," Eames said, setting his cup down. "So it's a matter of turning off your brain and letting yourself have what you want. I think I can help with that."

Eames leaned forward into Arthur's space and his heart started hammering. His mouth was suddenly dry, and Arthur licked his lips. "What? How?"

"Like this," Eames murmured, then kissed him. Bolts of lightning zapped down Arthur's limbs, and Eames's warm, dry lips moved over his. The universe narrowed into the contact between their mouths, and when Arthur leaned into the kiss, Eames hummed appreciatively. Arthur's mouth opened at the touch of Eames's tongue and he met it with his own, his tentativeness melting away as Eames moved closer. His hand raised to cup Arthur's cheek, and he tipped their heads, deepening the kiss.

Arthur's head swam, and when he finally broke away, panting slightly, Eames was there, taking little sipping kisses of his lips and threading his fingers through the short hairs at the back of Arthur's head.

He tried to keep up, but he was so overwhelmed by Eames's sudden move he could barely think. Which, of course, was Eames's plan. "I thought," Arthur panted, "I thought you weren't into," he drew his hand up Eames's neck, "rebound sex."

"Mmm," Eames hummed into his lips. "And what if," he kissed Arthur again, "this isn't about sex?"

Arthur stilled. "What?"

Eames smiled at him, slow and easy. "Snogging. I just want to snog you breathless for a while, darling." He kissed Arthur again, all lips, and scruff, and _Eames,_ and Arthur couldn't think again.

Every time he moved forward, chasing those lips, Eames backed off, brushing his tongue over Arthur's top lip, or breaking away to rub their noses together, or grazing kisses over his cheekbones. Eventually Arthur allowed Eames to set the pace and settled into the leisurely exploration of each other's mouths. All his focus narrowed to the man in front of him and each individual point of contact between them. Arthur could hear his breath speed up despite the unhurried tempo and he was rock hard in his pants.

He pulled back and for one glorious second Eames chased him, leaning toward him. They stared at each other, Eames's breaths quickened like Arthur's own, but his crooked teeth on display.

"What are you thinking about now?" Eames asked, his voice low and doing amazing things to Arthur's nerve endings.

"I…"

 _...want you_ , Arthur thought, then remembered Eames's claim that this wasn't about sex. He swallowed, because fuck it had been a long time, and after staring at Eames from afar, up close he looked overwhelming. But despite the fact that Eames wasn't touching him beyond the press of his knee against Arthur's, there was a promise in those kisses. A grin stretched across Arthur's face.

"Can I see you again tomorrow?" he asked, his voice pitched just as low. Eames's eyes flicked to Arthur's lips again and Arthur bit his lip, daringly playful.

"Just tomorrow?" Eames teased. "You mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling."

Arthur knew he was teasing, he _knew_ that. But all of a sudden, he was back in the fantasy he'd seen in Mal's bottle, the one with the beach and the balcony, just the two of them, far away from everyone else, wrapped up in nothing but each other. And as Arthur had currently never been more turned on in his adult life, just then it really didn't matter that this apparently _wasn't_ about sex. He dipped his head and gave Eames a smile, a real one, dimples and all. "Always."

Eames grinned and backed up, stood and offered Arthur a hand to help him up. Arthur accepted it with a mock sigh and didn't let go as Eames led him to the door.

"So, I'll see you tomorrow?" Arthur asked, hoping he didn't sound as needy as he felt. He didn't relish the walk back to his rooms in his current state.

"Can't, darling. I've got Quidditch practice. Last one before break."

 _After? The next day? The day after that? WHEN?_

Arthur nodded. "Well, I guess I'll see you around then. Thanks for the, ah, teenage makeout session. It's been awhile since I've done that." He grinned despite himself.

Eames grinned back. "Don't worry, you definitely still remember how."

Arthur tried not to blush, felt himself blush anyway. "Yeah, well, you're not so bad yourself."

"Hmm," Eames hummed. "There's more where that came from." He dropped a quick peck on Arthur's lips, but before he could move away, Arthur grabbed his shirt front and held him there. Then he kissed Eames again, long and deep, their tongues sliding against each other. If Arthur had to leave like this, he was going to make damn sure Eames was in the same state.

If his dazed look was anything to go by, Arthur counted it as a win. He let himself out and listened for the _snick_ of the door closing behind him before he let out the breath he'd been holding.

When he got back to his rooms, he'd barely gotten his bedroom door shut before he had himself in hand. He rubbed his cock through the fabric of his pants, his breath already stuttering with need, and Arthur cursed and fumbled his button and zipper open. With a sigh, he freed his throbbing erection to bob in the cool night air, palming the shaft.

"Christ," Arthur muttered, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. He circled his fingers around the base, trying to take it slow, trying to bring himself back from the edge he'd gotten himself to extremely fast.

He blew out a long breath, moving to sit on the edge of his bed. What he really wanted was Eames's mouth, wrapped around the tip of his cock as he looked up at Arthur from his knees. And just like that, Arthur was done waiting.

"Lubricus," he murmured, a deep groan rolling out of him as the warm slicking sensation filled his hand and he stroked himself over and over. He swirled his thumb around the head, shuddering at the thought of Eames, his lips, his amazing hands, his burly muscles pushing Arthur into the mattress.

"Ah, fuck," Arthur gritted out, laying back on the bed and plunging his other hand into his boxers, rolling his balls in his hand as he fucked his fist. It was too fast, too tight, but he couldn't slow down, couldn't get enough.

"Shit, shit," he breathed through clenched teeth as his orgasm hit him, his hand still flying over his cock and cum splattering his shirt and hitting him in the chin as his hips bucked up. "Hhhhhnnnnnnngggh," Arthur breathed, stroking himself through the aftershocks. His whole body tingled, his fingertips were numb and his head felt amazingly light. When he got over-sensitive and had to stop, he lay there, both hands in his pants, panting at the ceiling.

 _Well, that was embarrassingly fast. Maybe it's a good thing he wasn't here for that._

Then, Arthur heard a very familiar female laugh echo cruelly around his bedroom. He jerked upwards, covering himself in embarrassment and felt his cheeks flame.

"Mal?" he whispered, incredulous.

There was no answer but the wind outside his curtains.


	8. Chapter 8

_Dom has to finish the paperwork or I'm sunk_ , Arthur thought as he stalked to his classroom. He just could not teach another class on top of his current work load, plus dealing with Mal's loose ends and what was left of her job. Christ, _performance reviews_ were coming up, and that meant Arthur was going to have to do them. _No, no, focus. Dom, paperwork, Occlumency._

Arthur had the skillset to teach Occlumency, but he was actually terrible at explaining what he was doing in practice. So he could teach basics, he could follow a lesson plan, and he would turn himself inside out to help Dom. But he had to draw the line somewhere and ask for help.

He followed his feet, not really watching where he was going, which was why the flash of monochromatic sequins out of the corner of his eye was so surprising. He whipped his head around, following immediately around the corner, but didn't see anything.

 _Christ, now I'm losing my fucking mind. Perfect,_ he thought. Then he noticed where he was. The Cobb residence was at the end of the hall, and Arthur felt himself breathe a sigh of relief. He was thinking about Dom, he was worried about going to talk to him, and he wound up outside his door. Nothing odd about that. He cleared his throat and knocked.

"Arthur!" Miles's lined face looked glad to see him as he opened the door. "What brings you here?" He waved Arthur inside.

"Is Dom around?" Arthur asked as he stepped over the threshold.

"He's not, actually," Miles said.

"He's… he's not?" Arthur asked, because Dom didn't leave the residence much these days, and because he'd actually worked up a pretty good speech in his head to get him to fill out the fucking forms so he could figure out what to do with these students.

"He's picking Phillipa up from school and then taking her to football practice."

Arthur stared at Miles, quite sure his mouth was hanging open, but he didn't care. He had been so worried that Dom would waste away in his chair, ignoring his kids and going slowly insane. Before he knew what he was doing, he'd wrapped Miles up in an honest-to-god hug.

"Oof! Easy there, Arthur. You'll break these old bones," Miles said, a sad chuckle in his voice.

Arthur stepped back, self-conscious, but stared at him in wonder. "You're a miracle worker. I don't know what you did, but you brought him back to the land of the living."

Miles looked grim. "I don't know about that. I think the kids are what did it, but he's far from functional, Arthur. I think he's… lost touch a bit," he admitted. "I catch him talking to her, having full back and forth conversations. "

"Oh," Arthur said, the wind going out of him. He sat down on the couch a little too hard and Miles looked at him with concern.

"Are you alright Arthur? Can I get you a cup of tea?"

Arthur half smiled. British people and their love of tea. He couldn't admit that he talked to Mal too. "I'll be okay, thanks Miles. Just worried about Dom's class and Mal's Headmistress stuff, and… you know what? Nevermind. How are _you_ doing?"

Miles patted Arthur on the knee and got up to make tea anyway. "You know, Phillipa told me yesterday all about the different rocks she found in the courtyard. She brought them in and washed them with soap and water, and got in a fight with James about what order they should be in on the towel to 'get the best dry.'" He smiled, filling their cups and bringing one to Arthur. "And I kept thinking about how very much like Mal she was at that age." His hand trembled as he set his cup back on his saucer. "You keep thanking me for coming here, but…" he sighed, "those children, they give me hope and purpose. And when I see them," he met Arthur's gaze, "they make me feel like she isn't really gone. If that part of her is still here, I'll never really lose all of her," he said in a voice far steadier than Arthur's would have been.

Arthur tried to smile at him, but it stuck, so he took a sip of tea to cover it. "You're right, of course. I really should try to see Mal in all the things she used to do. I'll try to focus on that, thank you Miles."

Miles hummed but looked at Arthur shrewdly. "And what do you plan on doing about Dom?"

Arthur suppressed the grimace he felt so strongly. "Well, the Board of Governors-"

"-Is a perfunctory check when something like this happens. They'll appoint the Deputy Headmaster, like they've been doing for centuries," Miles said, his voice confident and succinct. "He can't be Headmaster, not now. You know that already, obviously. So, someone should be appointed to take over the role. And someone needs to teach Dom's classes. I know you're trying to help, Arthur, but you can't do it all forever, you know."

Arthur huffed out a humorless laugh. "Know anyone good?" he joked.

"Actually," Miles said, leaning back in his chair. "I do."

Arthur blinked at him. "You do?"

"There's a new teacher that just finished up her student teaching at Ilvermorney and would be fantastic for the Occlumency job. Until Dom is back on his feet," he assured Arthur at his noise of protest. "I'm assuming you are stalling because you still have hope he's going to be able to step into that role as Headmaster?"

Arthur nodded dumbly, his hand still wrapped around the cooling teacup.

"Well, she could probably help with a few things in that regard too until you realize that particular futility. She's very bright, eager, and talented beyond what I've seen in someone her age." He studied Arthur, who was trying to find a way to decline all of this politely. "It would mean at least one less thing on your plate, Arthur, if nothing else."

"Ah," Arthur said, putting his cup in the saucer and feeling a little railroaded. "Okay, what's her name?"

Miles nodded and looked satisfied. "Ariadne."

There was a note on his desk when he finally got to his classroom, as well as person sitting in what he'd come to think of as Eames's desk who was decidedly not Eames.

"Ophelia?" Arthur asked, trying to ignore the curl of apprehension in his stomach.

"Hello, Professor," she said respectfully, and Arthur relaxed a touch.

"What brings you here, Miss Pith?"

"Well…"

 _Please, please, please don't…_

"I need your help." Ophelia seemed far too nervous for normal teacher-type questions, and Arthur's anxiety stepped up a notch.

"Well, that's what I'm here for. Did you have a question on the homework?"

 _Shit, what did I assign for homework? Boggarts? No, that was last week's-_

"Kind of… all of my homework," she mumbled, not quite meeting Arthur's eyes.

Arthur set his notebooks down discreetly over the note on his desk and sat. Then he looked at the girl in front of him, really looked. Her robes weren't new, but they weren't old either, and they fit her properly. Her hair was windblown even though it wasn't windy today. She'd always had a hard time answering questions when called on in class, but Arthur was never sure if it was because she didn't know the answer or because she'd been, as Eames put it, mooning. So he'd tried not to call on her often, but was now regretting that immensely.

"What do you mean?" he asked, and watched her eyes flit everywhere but at him, brimming with tears that she refused to let fall.

"I want to play Quidditch," she finally burst out, like it was a secret locked away and she was surprised at herself for spilling it.

Arthur hesitated, not sure why she was bringing this to him. "Okay," he said slowly, but Ophelia wasn't done.

"I am afraid that if I join the team, I'll get kicked off anyway because of my grades. And I don't want…" she trailed off, not looking at him again.

 _Oh_ , Arthur thought. _Oh, oh, oh, I bet that's why she transferred, because of her grades. Merlin's pants, why didn't I catch that before? She's struggling but doesn't want to fail._

"I see," he said aloud. "Well, I think I can help you with that." He folded his hands and used his Confident Voice. "Also, I know the Gryffindor coach fairly well, so I think between the three of us we can come up with a plan that will allow you to be successful."

She didn't seem convinced, but Arthur opened his notebook and grabbed a quill. "Now, please tell me all the classes you're taking this term."

She listed them, one by one, and Arthur wrote them down. "And which would you say you're having the most trouble with?"

She winced. "Potions."

"Hmm," Arthur nodded. "If you had to name the main reason you're having trouble with Potions, what do you think the issue would be? Is it turning in your homework? Getting the in-class work done correctly? Something else?"

"I think," she frowned, concentrating, "it's the tests. I do okay on the homework, but when I have to remember stuff, it's like it all falls out of my head."

"Alright, well that's easy enough to fix," Arthur said, closing his notebook. He could get some more details from Yusuf, but the student usually had a pretty good idea what was going on, if they cared. And it was obvious that whatever Ophelia Pith had going on, not caring wasn't one of those things. Test taking was a skill, and one she could practice. He could help her build study guides, run evening tutoring-

She snorted and rolled her eyes the way only twelve-year-old girls can.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "You think it's not fixable?"

"I've got a memory like a sieve," she explained, and if Arthur was the type to bet, he would put money on it that she hadn't been the one to come up with that phrase.

"Uh huh," he said, frown firmly in place. "And who was the Seeker for the winning team during the 2014 Quidditch World Cup?"

"Alexander Nabokov," she answered without pause. Then she glared. "That's not the same thing."

"Except for the part where it is," Arthur answered, standing. "I can help you, Miss Pith, I've been doing this for a while now. Not to mention, I passed all my NEWTS and OWLS the first try." He gave her a small smile. "You can trust me."

She stood also, rolling her eyes again. Then she hesitated, shifting from foot to foot.

"Something else?" he asked.

She glanced at him. "You said Gryffindor earlier. But… do you think you could talk to the Slytherin coach instead?"

"Eames?" Arthur blurted. "I mean, yes, I know Professor Eames, I can speak to him. Professionally. I, uh, I thought you'd want to play for your own house though?"

She shrugged. "Professor Cobb hasn't been around, and the captain picked someone else. Professor Eames said he'd leave a spot for me if I was interested."

Arthur gave her smile. "Well, I'm sure he'll be pleased to hear you are."

"Thanks, Professor. I appreciate it."

Arthur nodded. He was appreciative too, he thought as she left his classroom. He had forgotten how it felt to be useful, to be able to _do_ something. The last few weeks had battered him more than he'd realized, drowning him in more than even he could handle. But he could do _this_ ; he could give this student a plan, help her achieve something and make her feel successful. This is what he actually did for a living. And he was good at it. In fact, he was the best.

Arthur had almost forgotten the note when it fluttered to the floor as he moved his books. Stooping to pick it up, he recognized his own handwriting.

" _Bloody hell, this quill is amazing, I wish I hadn't left it at Eames's last night._

 _XOXO, Arthur_

 _P.S. Long story involving a purple patch jinx, but practice has been moved to Thursday. 7:00? Your place this time?"_

Arthur smiled grudgingly. Eames wasn't even here and was still keeping him from getting any planning done. He checked his watch and shoved the thought aside; he had a personal development plan to outline.

At the end of the school day, after Arthur had checked in with Mal's officemates, sent an owl to the Ariadne woman Miles had mentioned, stopped a particularly nasty fight between two Ravenclaw girls, and handed down detentions that would ensure he had something to do on Friday nights for a month, he finally flumped down in his desk chair in his bedroom. He pinched the bridge of his nose and yawned.

 _Oh, shit!_

It was 6:45, and he hadn't eaten, or cleaned, or changed his clothes, let alone planned anything for when Eames arrived-

 _FuckFuckFuckityFuckFuck._

Arthur did the Flight of the Bumblebee around his rooms and was in the ensuite with his toothbrush in his mouth when he remembered he hadn't cleaned the pile off the table. Which, of course, was when he heard the knock at the door.

"Oh, fug," he said around the toothbrush. He spat and rushed to the table, scooping everything into his arms before it registered that there was no place to set it out of the way that Eames wouldn't see. He set it all back down, resigned to the ribbing Eames would give him and went to open the door.

"Hello, pet," Eames said, smirking already. "I'm not... interrupting something, am I?" His voice was so heavy with innuendo that Arthur blinked at him in confusion.

"No?" he said, backing up so Eames could enter. "Why?"

Except Eames didn't just enter. He walked right into Arthur's space, letting the door close behind him. He reached a thumb up to the corner of Arthur's mouth, and Arthur stopped breathing. Eames focused on Arthur's mouth, his own lips parting in response as he ran his thumb slowly over Arthur's bottom lip, stroking from corner to corner, and Arthur wanted to _groan_. The man was going to fucking kill him.

Then Eames pulled back and showed Arthur the white smear on the pad of his thumb. "Not entertaining someone else, are you?" his voice was rough but teasing, and Arthur could feel the tips of his stupid ears heating.

"Fuck," he muttered, swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. Eames chuckled and handed Arthur the bottle of wine he'd had under his arm, which of course Arthur hadn't noticed before. It looked exotic and expensive.

"Ah, thanks," he motioned with the bottle. "I'll just go open this…"

"Probably won't taste good with toothpaste, pet," Eames said. "It can wait."

"Oh," Arthur said, feeling stupid. God, Eames. He felt a flash of annoyance as he set the bottle on the counter in the kitchen.

Eames followed him, of course, because Arthur couldn't have five seconds to get himself together and-

Eames's lips touched the back of Arthur's neck and his large hands circled his hips, and it was like Eames had found Arthur's on/off switch. Arthur's eyes slipped closed and he shivered. All he could think about was the buzz that currently taking over every limb and the way Eames's lips made him lose his fucking mind. He tipped his head back to give Eames better access and a small sigh escaped. His hands gripped the edge of the counter as Eames nibbled along his collar, small kisses combined with tiny nips.

 _Holy Merlin's shorts, that feels good_ , Arthur thought, and Eames's chuckle vibrated his skin.

"Did I say that out loud?" Arthur asked, his eyes still closed.

"Yes," Eames said, running his hands over Arthur's shoulders, "you did."

"Shit, sorry," Arthur mumbled, leaning back into the solid frame of Eames's arms.

Eames hummed, nosing Arthur's earlobe. "Don't be. I like hearing what you're thinking."

And Arthur tried not to stiffen, he tried not to let Eames's casual words hit him in the gut and bring up Mal, when he obviously didn't intend to, but it happened anyway.

Eames froze, his hands curled around Arthur's biceps. "I mean…"

Arthur sighed. "I know what you meant." He straightened and tried to squirm away, but Eames's hands held him where he was.

"Arthur," he said, his voice low, "don't. Please. It's just us, okay? You and me." His hands gentled, smoothing down Arthur's forearms to where his fingers clutched the counter. "And I only meant that you don't often say what you're thinking, so I've gotten fairly good at figuring it out anyway." He twined his fingers with Arthur's and Arthur felt himself relax. "I just like your voice."

Arthur wanted to gape at him, just turn around and stare at the man whose voice sounded like sin rolled in honey, telling him he liked _Arthur's_ voice. Instead, he squeezed Eames's fingers and used their joined hands to wrap Eames's arms around his waist.

"What do you want my voice to say?" he asked, a little breathless.

Eames's arms tightened as he flattened his palms against Arthur's stomach. "Yes, please, right there," he husked against Arthur's neck. "Harder, more, faster," he said as he stroked up Arthur's chest, the flat of his hands running over Arthur's nipples and starting fires under Arthur's skin.

Arthur dropped his head. "Christ, yes," he groaned, pressing back into Eames's heat. "Please," he whispered and rolled his hips backwards, feeling Eames's length pressed against his ass. "Right there."

"Darling," Eames groaned, "that's not how this was supposed to go." But his hands didn't stop touching and he rolled his hips right back. "I have so many plans for you first."

Eames's lips found Arthur's neck again and Arthur melted. When he drew Arthur's earlobe into his mouth, Arthur stopped breathing, every nerve focused on the swirl of Eames's tongue and the scrape of his teeth.

"You deserve wine, and candles, and flowers, and poems-" Eames murmured, punctuating each thought with a kiss or a lick.

"I want you," Arthur interrupted. He pushed back against Eames, freeing his aching erection from where it was pressed against the counter. Arthur turned in Eames's arms and looked into a face that was a wrecked as his own. "You wanted to hear what I was thinking, that's what I'm thinking." Arthur reached for the zipper on his own robes, Eames's eyes following his every move. "I've wanted you for a long time."

The whir of the zip was the only sound in the small room, which meant Eames was holding his breath too. Arthur shrugged out of the long, dark material, his trousers tenting obscenely and making him feel even more exposed. But Eames looked at him with heat in his gaze and reached to touch him, blowing out a shaky breath.

"Christ, Arthur," he gritted out, "how can I say no to that?" He surged forward, and Arthur met him halfway, his robes slipping out of his hand and pooling on the floor and Arthur had never cared about robes less. Eames slid a thigh between Arthur's legs and kissed him and _holy fuck_ , Arthur would never, ever get enough of him. He tasted like toothpaste, and Arthur grinned against his lips. He reached for the zip on Eames's robes, pulling it down without breaking their kiss. He just needed to touch, to taste. Eames had been rattling around in the corners of his brain for so damn long, and now that he was allowed front and center, Arthur _wanted_.

They broke apart so Eames could drag Arthur's sweater over his head, then they fumbled at their own buttons. When Eames tugged his shirt out of his waistband, a flash of tanned skin made Arthur's brain skid offline. A whimper escaped his throat, and Arthur abandoned his own clothes in favor of pulling apart the mustard yellow shirt and exposing Eames's solidly muscled chest.

Arthur's mouth went dry. He swallowed with a click. "Tattoos," he finally said, and suddenly, plans for licking every single one of them pushed all other thoughts from his head.

"Yeah," Eames said, sounding, for the first time, nervous. "I should have warned you about that, pet, I-"

But whatever he was going to say flitted away when Arthur pushed him back against the opposite counter and dropped to his knees. He ran his thumb over the dark ink at Eames's waistband and then _bit_ him, scraping his teeth along the mark on his hip as his hands flew over the fastenings at Eames's belt and zipper.

"Ahh, bloody fuck," Eames moaned, but Arthur didn't hear him, because he had finally, _finally_ , gotten Eames's pants open, and the heavy, thick, uncut cock in front of him was fulfilling every fantasy Arthur had ever had. Nope. More than. His bottled fantasy was underestimating the man in front of him.

"Eames," Arthur whispered, licking his lips. Eames's cock jumped at his voice, and that was all the encouragement Arthur needed. He swallowed Eames down, ignoring his soft shout and focusing on relaxing his throat at much as possible. Saliva dripped out of the corner of his mouth as he pulled off, then he sank down again, burying his nose in the warm tangle of hair and cloth and scent at Eames's groin.

 _Christ, he is perfect,_ Arthur thought as his eyelids drifted shut and he lost himself in the motion, swallowing Eames over and over again. He played with adjusting his suction, varying his speed, and flicking his tongue over the head. His fingers skated over the shaft, pulling back Eames's foreskin and stroking in counterpoint to his sucks.

"Arthur," Eames grunted, and Arthur opened his eyes to look up at him. He was holding on to the edge of the counter like a lifeline and looking at him with something close to wonder. When Arthur looked up at him, his cock leapt in Arthur's mouth, precum bursting over his tongue. Arthur moaned at the taste.

"Shite," Eames gusted out and looked at the ceiling, biting his lip. Arthur smirked, or as much as one could smirk around a cock in their mouth, reached up and peeled one of Eames's hands away from the counter. He placed it on the back of his own head and went back to work, sliding up and down Eames's length, the flat of his tongue stroking him. His hands tugged Eames's trousers and boxers to the tops of his thighs, and Eames was gorgeous. The mental image alone of Eames, with his robes and shirt and pants open in the middle of Arthur's kitchen was enough to make Arthur as hard as a pipe. He ignored his twitching cock in favor of stroking the hairs on Eames's thighs before rolling his balls in his palm. Eames's fingers clenched in Arthur's hair, before Eames released him with a whispered, "Sorry."

Arthur sank down as far as he could on Eames's cock, mouth stretched wide and eyes watering, and placed his hand over Eames's in his hair. Then he tightened his fingers and Eames's along with them, both of them pulling his hair. He stayed there as long as he could before he backed up, drawing in a deep breath and blinking, sucking just the tip and giving himself a chance to recover. Eames _groaned_ and dragged both of his hands through Arthur's carefully styled hair. "Darling," Eames breathed, not pushing or pulling, just touching Arthur, every stroke of his broad fingers sending sparks down Arthur's torso and straight to his cock. He began to rock forward, taking in more of Eames a little at a time and speeding up. He hummed with approval when Eames tugged at his hair and Eames panted above him. It was wet and messy and Arthur fucking loved it. When Eames tapped his cheek it was too soon, but they both wrapped their hands around Eames's length, Eames showing Arthur exactly how he liked it. Arthur gripped him and Eames came with a strangled cry, his come leaking around Arthur's fist as he stroked him through it. Eames shuddered, his hips bucking, and _god_ _,_ Arthur _wanted._ He fumbled his left hand into his pants, resting his forehead on Eames's tattooed hip. A whine caught in his throat on the first stroke, and he bit his lip.

Eames stilled, breathing hard, and said, "Let me help, love."

He raised Arthur's chin, and Eames, who looked well-fucked and still good enough to eat, smiled at Arthur, his crooked teeth on display. He pulled Arthur to his feet and kissed him, the long, deep, after-sex kisses that Arthur had nearly forgotten existed. Or maybe he'd never had them quite like this before. He pressed himself against Eames, wanting more, wanting everything, and Eames wrapped his arms around Arthur and pulled him closer still.

"Where's your bedroom, Arthur? It's my turn."


	9. Chapter 9

A soft sliver of moonlight drifted between Arthur's curtains, tracing a line across Eames' bicep and down his back. Arthur wanted to follow it, dust his fingers over Eames's bare skin and study the dips and ridges of his body until he was satisfied he'd know it in the dark. But he didn't want to wake Eames, who was face down on his bed, arms wrapped around the pillow under his head, his sandy brown hair falling over his forehead. Arthur sat up with his back pushed against the headboard, watching the rise and fall of Eames's breaths. He chewed his lip.

Eames couldn't stay the night. Even if Arthur weren't playing at being Headmaster, and even if they had a full-blown and public relationship, a student seeing Eames sneaking out of Arthur's room in the morning was _not_ something he could have happen. What the fuck had he been thinking? How was this going to work? Eames was… well, he was smart and funny and fucking gorgeous, and gave spectacular blow jobs, and Arthur couldn't see himself getting sick of Eames anytime soon, but what if he got tired of Arthur? It was easy to imagine. Arthur was prickly and quiet and scowled too much, and he was sarcastic and didn't make friends easily, and if he couldn't stand Arthur any more, the only way to get away from him would be for Eames to-

"I can hear you thinking," Eames said, voice muffled against his pillow.

Arthur froze, then slid an Occlumency shield in place. When had he stopped having one up at all times?

Eames lifted his head up to look Arthur in the face. "Not actually," he said, sliding his warm fingers around Arthur's wrist. "But you're still keeping me awake."

"Sorry," Arthur muttered, trying to roll off his sense of unease. "I'll stop."

Eames brought Arthur's hand to his mouth, kissing each of Arthur's fingers. "What's bothering you?" He didn't take his eyes off Arthur's hand, focusing his supreme concentration on unfurling each finger and pressing his lips to the pads, the joints, and the knuckles, taking his time.

Arthur sighed. "How is this going to work, Eames?"

 _Shit, was that the wrong way to phrase that?_ He hadn't been trying to hurt Eames or make him think he wanted out. Because _god,_ he wanted this, right here, right now. He just needed a contingency plan, he needed to know _what if._

But Eames looked at him then, and instead of hurt, Eames looked fond. As if Arthur had asked some silly question with an obvious answer and it was cute that he hadn't already figured it out. Arthur scowled.

Eames just smiled and kissed his palm. Then he folded Arthur's fingers over the place he'd kissed, one at a time. "I asked what was bothering you, darling." And Arthur huffed out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Christ," he muttered, and slid down until he was nose to nose with Eames. "You are just…" but he couldn't finish the thought, because Eames was the _sun_ , and it _hurt_. He swallowed. "What if this doesn't work, Eames?" His voice sounded small, but in the dark, with Eames's naked thigh in between his, and his eyes focused on the dark ink imprinted on Eames's skin, he could handle feeling small here. "What if we don't work?"

"What do you mean?" Eames was quiet, watching him, and Arthur still couldn't meet his eyes.

He traced a tattoo and said, "We are co-workers. And live in the same building. The building in which we work. And we each have 200 kids, and we're going to have to introduce them at some point, and it'll be awkward." He tried for a smile, but Eames's large warm hand came up to cup his cheek. He looked up into the blue gaze and felt warm to his toes.

"It'll work if we let it," Eames said simply.

Arthur frowned. _How can he be so nonchalant? This is huge. This is the end of everything if I fuck this up. This was why I hate this part of relationships_ , he thought. "But the students, and the staff… we'll have to keep it a secret," Arthur said, his voice pained as he stared at that face. He could feel his palm where Eames's lips had been, and he wondered if Eames had muttered a spell he hadn't heard.

Eames still appeared unconcerned. "If you want to. Secrets can be fun," he added, like this was some big role playing game and not their jobs and homes and lives caught up in whatever Arthur assumed this was.

Arthur scowled again. "I don't understand. I thought-"

"I want to date you, Arthur," Eames said, his eyes steady on Arthur's. "I want to woo you into falling for me, and I want to bring you presents and leave you notes. And beyond that…" Eames shrugged one shoulder. "We'll get there when we get there. I know you love plans, darling," he smiled, "but maybe this one we just plant it and see where it grows, hm?"

All of a sudden, a weight shifted off Arthur's shoulders, one that he hadn't even been aware was building. When Eames had rejected him before, he'd had no idea what it was that Eames wanted, but Arthur was willing, however much work it seemed, for a Relationship™ if that's what was on the table. And maybe it still was, but this wasn't an ultimatum or a proposal. This was just Eames, lying naked in his bed and saying, 'see you tomorrow'. And he would. And Arthur was looking forward to it. In fact, he was looking forward to a lot of tomorrows, and even that thought didn't scare Arthur as much as he'd imagined it would.

"One day at a time?" he asked, tentative.

Eames lifted himself up over Arthur, supporting himself on his arms. "One day at a time," he promised, and kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him.

When Arthur woke, it was to an empty bed and a large _clang_ from the kitchen. He jerked to a sitting position, then groaned because _fuck_ it was early.

"What the hell is he doing, Mal? I let him stay one night and he takes over the whole place…the sun's not even up yet," Arthur grumbled.

He summoned a t-shirt, boxers and a dressing gown and made his way through the bathroom before checking to see what all the commotion was about.

He found Eames fully dressed, in his small, unstocked kitchen, mixing something in a bowl he was positive he didn't own, and melting butter in a pan on the stove.

"Good morning, darling!" Eames crowed, and of _course_ he was a morning person. Arthur grunted and reached for a mug, catching sight of the lumpy substance in the bowl.

"Uh, what is that?" he said suspiciously.

Eames looked at the bowl like he was trying to see what Arthur saw. "Breakfast," he chirped and dumped some of the odd beige mixture into the pan in several small piles. Arthur raised an eyebrow and cautiously picked up an apple from the fruit basket, just in case. "Oh, perfect," Eames announced, plucking the green apple from Arthur's grasp. He tossed it in the air, then pointed his wand at it, muttering a cutting spell that sliced the apple neatly into circular discs. He grinned at Arthur and placed a few apple slices on each pile of his concoction, now flattened and bubbling merrily, and then flipped each pile. It smelled okay, and Arthur's stomach reminded him that he hadn't had supper the night before and had definitely earned a decent breakfast.

Eames dropped a pat of butter on top of the browned circles and slid a few of them on a plate. He handed one to Arthur and filled his own, then settled at Arthur's breakfast nook like they did this every day and it wasn't ridiculously early in the morning.

Finally, Arthur shook his head and sat, watching Eames carefully to see how to eat the strange food in front of him. Unfortunately, Eames appeared to be watching Arthur. "What is this, Eames?" Arthur asked, cautiously lifting the edge of one flattened circle.

Eames's eyebrows climbed to his hairline, his forehead wrinkling. "You're never had pancakes before?"

Arthur curled his lip. "Pan cakes? No. No, I have not."

Eames laughed with delight, grabbed a small bottle of brown liquid and dumped it over his "pan cakes," as well as Arthur's. He watched it as it dripped down the sides of the stack.

"And what is that?" he asked, wondering if the Great Hall was open this early and if he could just get something normal.

Eames leaned toward him and whispered, "Tree sap." Then he winked, and Arthur didn't know what to believe. But Eames cut a bite with the edge of his fork and shoveled the whole thing into his mouth and chewed happily, so it must not have been too bad.

"Where did you get the stuff to make this?" he asked, cutting into the pile with caution.

"House elves," Eames said before stuffing his mouth full of another bite. Arthur froze. He frowned at Eames, who furrowed his brow at Arthur and swallowed. "What?"

"So, not a secret, then?" Arthur asked with a scowl.

"Ah…" Eames paused, "I hadn't thought of that, actually?" He shrugged apologetically.

Arthur rolled his eyes and took a tentative bite. They were… good. Really good. The sap was sweet and the butter had melted into the cake. He took another bite, and the apple was tart and warm, but still firm.

"Mmm, Eames," he said, chewing with his eyes closed. "Where did you learn to make this?" He opened his eyes just in time to see Eames wince and a flash of pain cross his features before he smoothed them out.

"My mum, of course. I've made them since I was a kid."

Arthur chewed thoughtfully, watching him, and decided not to push. "Well, she was a very clever witch. These are really good." And that time Eames almost managed not to wince.

All of a sudden, there was a sharp tapping on the window in his bedroom and Eames looked at his watch. "Oh, bloody hell, is it that late already?" He jumped up and Arthur had no choice but to follow, his curiosity winning over his new love of pan cakes.

Eames had thrown open the window to let in a large gray owl with a box strapped to its back. The handsome bird strutted over to Arthur's desk and allowed Eames to remove the box.

"What's this?" Arthur asked.

Eames looked sheepish. "I may have gotten you a gift."

The corner of Arthur's mouth lifted. "You did?" He stepped forward, and Eames passed him the box.

"Now," Eames started, nervous and fidgety, "if you don't like him, just let me know because you don't have to keep-"

"Him?" Arthur asked, pausing in untying the string that had been used to secure it. He glanced at the box again, aware he'd been holding it sideways and carefully righted it. He finished removing the string from around the box and opened it slowly, waiting for something to move or jump out, but nothing happened. After a pause, he peered inside and pulled out a large, worn leather glove. Just one.

Arthur's eyes flitted to Eames, who was clearly enjoying his confusion. "Him?" he asked again, and Eames just grinned.

"Put it on," he said.

Brow furrowed, he complied, and as soon as the glove was fully seated, a rush of nearly silent wings flapped and the owl, whom Arthur had assumed was waiting for payment, landed neatly on Arthur's wrist.

"Oh," Arthur breathed, blinking into two bright yellow eyes that stared right back.

"Oh, Eames," Arthur whispered. He reached up a hand to stroke the ashy feathers and the bird nipped at Arthur's fingers in a friendly way, turning his round face curiously. Eames reached forward and handed Arthur an owl treat, which Arthur took unseeing. He could only stare at the elegant creature in front of him, holding the treat in his palm and _beaming_ when the owl bent to take it from him. "What's his name?" Arthur asked, his voice full of wonder.

"Owly McOwlface," Eames said solemnly.

Both Arthur and the owl turned to stare at him.

"Named him myself," Eames boasted, crossing his arms.

Arthur just stared at him, then stroked the owl's chest with a finger, turning slightly as if to shield him from Eames.

"What? You don't like it?" Eames said, exaggeratedly crestfallen. "That's okay, I have a whole slew of options. How about Owliver? Or Hooters?" he suggested to Arthur's dry stare. "No? Nothing? Scowl?"

Arthur raised his eyebrows and blinked at Eames, slowly, like it took a lot of effort. Eames just grinned at him and came to stand behind him, both of them looking at the owl. They watched him for a few moments before Eames placed a kiss on Arthur's neck. "He's yours to name, darling," he said, his voice soft and warm. "Although I have a fondness for Scowl."

Arthur tried to scowl, but his lips twitched and then he gave in and dimpled, wide and happy. "Eames," he smiled, "you got me an owl."

"I did indeed, pet," Eames hummed, and Arthur reached back to kiss him. The owl ruffled his wings at the lack of attention and Arthur had to turn and stare at him again.

"He's beautiful," Arthur said with awe.

Eames moved to the desk and picked up a small metal tube out of the box that Arthur had missed and fastened it securely to the outside of the owl's feathery leg. It had Arthur's name on it already. "He can stay here if you want, but you'll need a cage. I can get you one this weekend during the break. In the meantime, it won't hurt him to stay at the Owlery."

Arthur nodded, still staring.

Eames sighed. "It seems like only yesterday when you used to look at me like that," he said and Arthur grinned but didn't look at him. "Now, I have to get going, darling," he said, moving behind Arthur again to hug him around the waist. "Showers to take, classes to teach, and all that. I won't see you tonight, Quidditch, but can I see you Friday?"

"Yes. Wait, no, detention. This weekend?"

Eames tsked. "Detention? You should be better behaved, Arthur," he teased. "Yes, I'm sure I can pencil you in for this weekend sometime. The students will be gone and we'll," his voice dropped, "finally be alone."

"Oh, yes, that reminds me," Arthur said, ignoring his waggling eyebrows. "I have a… work meeting this weekend. I was going to ask if you'd go with me." He didn't _need_ Eames there for the meeting with Nash, but suddenly, the whole thing seemed a lot less horrible if he knew Eames would be with him.

"Sounds fabulously romantic, can't wait," Eames quipped. He smacked a kiss to Arthur's cheek and headed for the door, robes swirling around his ankles.

"Eames?" Arthur called and Eames turned. Arthur looked at him and hoped Eames knew how much he meant when he said, "Thank you."

Eames smiled his crooked smile. "My pleasure, darling."

The door clicked behind him and the owl stretched his wings wide, clicking his beak. Arthur pointed to the desktop and the bird hopped over happily. Arthur was thrilled he knew basic commands, and he fished an owl treat from the bottom of the box.

"I think I'm going to name you Strix," Arthur murmured, stroking his soft feathers. The owl hooted mildly, a low, contented sound, like he approved. Then he hopped to the windowsill and took off. The rush of wings and crisp autumn air stirred Arthur's hair and he knew he was grinning like an idiot, but he didn't care.

"I have an owl, Mal," he whispered.

* * *

Arthur wasn't sure he'd see Eames during his planning period, because he had literally been in Arthur's bed just hours before that, and the thought made him dimple. So, he was smiling again when Eames showed up in his classroom and plunked himself in his usual spot.

"Hello, darling, how is Doctor Who?" Eames asked, adjusting his carefully spelled robes so Arthur would notice the moving fireworks.

"Doctor Who?" he asked, pointedly not commenting on Eames's antics. It was almost like normal. It was familiar, and comfortable, and easy. When in his crazy life had this become the easy part?

"Your owl. I assumed that's what you'd named him?" Eames grinned cheekily, and Arthur rolled his eyes.

"His name is Strix," he informed Eames.

"Oh, ho! Yes, a proper name, that one," Eames rubbed his bristly chin. "Yes, yes, I like it. I'm also a fan of Hooters though, too."

Arthur arched a cool eyebrow at him. "I'm sure you are. Get up here."

Eames's eyebrows rose and he pointed to himself. _Me?_ he mouthed, then detangled his long legs from the chair and met Arthur at the front of the classroom. Arthur stood and hauled Eames against him by his ridiculous robes and kissed him. Their mouths met like they'd been kissing like this for years, like they knew how to find each other. And he shouldn't be doing this, but it was so easy. Eames was _here,_ with him, and the newness of this tingled under his skin and Arthur didn't stop him when Eames leaned in and groped his ass. But he'd have to stop him soon because he was half hard already and if anyone-

Then a female voice broke through the haze. "Does Dom know you're sleeping with another professor?"

Eames and Arthur jumped apart, Arthur maybe a little faster than Eames because he recognized that voice. It was an impossible voice.

"Mal," he blurted.

Because there she was, floating in front of him, a silvery transparent shape with a hard frown.

"Hello, Arthur," she said flatly.

But Arthur couldn't answer her because he'd forgotten how to speak. He backed even further away from Eames, his eyes sweeping her. Her beautiful face was exactly as he remembered, but the bubble of hope that had formed when he's heard her voice withered in Arthur's chest. The amount of longing and cherished memory that surged through him was knocked sideways by the scowl she wore and the slight look of disgust she tossed at Eames.

"...Mal?" Arthur ventured, still not quite believing. "Are you really here?"

Mal rolled her eyes. "Obviously, Arthur. Honestly."

Arthur gaped. He couldn't help it, he had no frame of reference for what was happening. "I don't… what are you doing here?"

Mal's chin went up defiantly, and she shook her hair back over her shoulders. "I have unfinished work."

And Arthur's stomach dropped even further. "What do you mean?" he asked, but she didn't answer. She turned and floated away from him, leaving the classroom before he could make his legs work again, and by the time he followed her to the hallway, she was gone.

Eames stopped a few feet behind him but stayed where he was at Arthur's sharp head shake, and he didn't follow when Arthur stormed away.

Arthur walked to the only place he could and pounded on Dom's door. When Dom himself answered, Arthur asked breathlessly, "Did you see her?"

Dom paled and swallowed visibly. "What?"

"Have you _seen her_?" Arthur shouted, wanting to shake him. Dom took a quick look behind him, then stepped out into the hallway with Arthur.

"You mean Mal?" Dom asked, wiping his palms on his robes.

" _Yes,_ I mean Mal. I take it you've seen her too? What the hell, Dom?" Arthur watched his lined face.

Dom grimaced. "I… Yes, I've seen her a few times," he confessed, "but I wasn't sure…"

"You mean you saw Mal's ghost and you didn't think to _tell anyone?!_ "

"I didn't know what I was seeing, okay?" Dom burst out. "For all I knew I could have been going crazy. She was… _is_ the only thing I think about, and for her to just show up there, saying that stuff…"

Arthur's scalp prickled. "What stuff?" he asked.

A deep sigh was pushed out of Dom's lungs, and he squinted at the ceiling. Arthur waited not-so-patiently and allowed him to figure out how to word it.

"Stuff she wouldn't normally say," he finally confessed. "It's like she could still hear my thoughts, except she was saying the most awful things, like she was-like she wanted to hurt me."

"Why would she do that?" Arthur boggled.

"Well, how the hell should I know?" Dom yelled. "Why don't you ask her now that you can see her too? I thought she was my fucking subconscious! I didn't spend a lot of time arguing with her."

Dom's furious face brought Arthur back from his flash of anger. "Oh, god, Dom, I'm…" He put a hopefully reassuring hand on Dom's shoulder, unsure how to fix him but willing to try. For Mal, anything. "Look, we'll figure this out. Where are the kids? Have they seen her?"

Dom wasn't reassured. "Have my children seen what I previously assumed was the hallucinated corporeal vision of my dead wife, who says awful things to me? No. No, they haven't. I wasn't able to keep their mother from actually being dead, but thus far I've managed to keep them from seeing her dead."

Arthur blinked. "Dom…" he started, hurt and aching for his friend. But he gritted his teeth. He could be the professional one. "You need to tell them. And Miles. If I can see her, they will be able to also, and a head's up would be better than a surprise."

A glare and a huff were the only responses he got before Dom walked back through his door, closing it in Arthur's face.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. He checked his watch and headed for the Headmaster's Tower. He needed to keep the prior Headmasters informed and see if they had ever heard of anything like this happening before.

When he got to the circular office, the great chair behind Mal's desk wasn't empty. It held a silvery, see-through version of Mal. Arthur felt a growing unease as she looked up at him from the paper lying flat on the desk which she was reading.

"Mal?" he ventured. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" she said with a sneer. "This is my office. Why wouldn't I be here?" She frowned at him, and Arthur took an involuntary step back. "Why? Did you REPLACE me?" Her voice got louder and Arthur was sure it was a trick of the dimming lights, but her figure seemed to grow in size. "Did you FIND SOMEONE BETTER?" she shouted. She was looming now, the room seemed to be shrinking as she took up more and more space.

"I…" he started, but he faltered in the face of Mal's displeasure. "No, no of course not, Mal…"

" _Bon,_ " she said, and just like that, she was her normal self again. "Then I am still your Headmistress, _oui?"_ She sat down in the chair behind the desk, looking over a paper that lay there. When Arthur just stood, gaping at her, she raised her head again. "Was there something else?"

"Ah," Arthur clenched his fists and released them. "No, nothing else."

Mal waved his dismissal, and Arthur's feet followed her silent order and drug him out of the room, trepidation roiling through him.

* * *

A/N: Cover art was made by dasyatidae. (she's on AO3.) You guys! She made me ART! And it's beautiful! Go to her. Heap upon her laurels and accolades. Explain to her how wonderful she is because I think she stopped listening to me.


	10. Chapter 10

Arthur checked his watch and muttered a curse, racing back down the hallway to his classroom. His class was probably just sitting around talking, even though they _knew_ they were supposed to be covering the next chapter.

He skidded to a halt and opened the door, but to his horror, it was much worse than sitting and talking. The entire class was out of their seats, slinging curses and jinxes back and forth at each other, laughing and screeching out counter curses while they danced out of the way. He drew in a breath to attempt to restore order, when he noticed a set of fireworks robes flitting in between sets of students.

"What are you doing?" he scowled at Eames, ducking just in time to avoid an errant stunning spell.

Eames grinned. "Dueling practice!"

Arthur looked around him again and despite all the laughing and shrieking, the class did appear to be using spells they'd been studying. And some of them were quite good, he admitted. He frowned anyway. "It's not even Friday," he grumbled, to which Eames laughed out loud.

"Well, I do have to get back, but thanks for allowing me to play with your class," Eames said. "Walk me out?"

Arthur nodded, his frown tense, and Eames leaned into him as soon as they were in the hallway. Arthur hated himself the second it happened, but he stiffened as soon as Eames got close enough that Arthur could recognize the same stubble from that morning. It seemed like a lifetime ago, and he felt like a stranger looking in on the memory. Eames noticed, but his gaze just flickered over Arthur's face before he whispered, "Is everything alright? Was that Mal?"

"Yes, it was," Arthur licked his lips. "And no, I don't think it's alright. I went to the Headmaster's Tower, and she was there, demanding to know if we'd replaced her, and if we hadn't then she was still Headmistress."

"Christ," Eames breathed, and he looked shocked, but beyond that, Arthur couldn't read how he felt about that. "Why _didn't_ we replace her?"

Arthur winced. "Well…"

Eames raised his eyebrows. "Oh my. You have already replaced her. And when were you going to tell someone you'd hired a new Headmaster, pet?"

Arthur felt his back straighten in defiance. He glared at Eames. "I haven't hired a new Headmaster," he stage whispered, conscious of their surroundings even if the hallway was empty. "Yet. But if you feel like I've been doing such a shit job and you'd like to take over, then be my fucking guest. I have a class to teach."

He spun on his heel, but strong fingers gripped his bicep hard enough to hurt and hauled him back. Eames's face loomed in front of his, a frown on his alluring mouth.

"Arthur," Eames said, "that's not necessary. We are on the same side." Then he drew a breath and looked at Arthur with intensity. "So you should _stop talking_ ," he stressed, "unless you need help with something."

Arthur bristled. "Stop talking?! What the fuck is that supposed to mean? If you think spending one night-"

Eames jerked forward and clamped a hand over Arthur's mouth, hard. Arthur saw red and he sucked a breath in through his nose, shoving against Eames, his hand going for his wand. He was going to bite his fucking hand _off_ , the entitled asshole.

Luckily, Eames caught Arthur's wand hand and widened his eyes meaningfully. He glanced down at the bottom of the door they stood in front of, and Arthur followed his gaze. There, squirming pinkly against the stones, were no less than four Extendable Ears.

Like the air going out of a balloon, Arthur deflated. He sagged against Eames, whose hand was still over his mouth, and Eames chuckled silently. Arthur shook his head in defeat and leaned his forehead against Eames's in apology. Eames pressed a quiet kiss onto the back of his own hand, then pulled a safe distance away and straightened Arthur's robes.

"You know, I think it'll all work out. Hogwarts has been here for a long time before us, and it'll be here for a long time after," Eames said, playing his part.

Arthur nodded, then felt silly. "Right, I'm sure by the time everyone is back from break, everything will be taken care of," he said with far more confidence than he felt.

Eames laughed, comfortable and natural. "Are you going to Hogsmeade for break?"

"Er," Arthur hesitated, not sure if they were acting anymore. "Yes, I have a few things to pick up."

"For Doctor Who?" Eames grinned cheekily.

Arthur scowled. "That's not his name."

"Oh, right, I know that. I just don't think "Hooters" is a wholly appropriate name for a professor's ow-OW!" he yelped as Arthur punched him in the arm.

" _You_ stop talking," Arthur griped, but he smiled as he said it and Eames smiled back, still rubbing his arm and looking a little dazed. He walked backwards and gave Arthur a cheeky wave, then headed back down the hallway. When Arthur opened the classroom doors, all the students were dueling again, but now subdued. He took a look around the room, at each student carefully avoiding his eye, and decided normalcy was the best thing he could provide for these kids in a time when it was going to go pear-shaped at any moment.

"Sit down, everyone," he said, his best scowl fixed in place. "We've got a chapter to cover before break."

Eames had Quidditch practice that night and a part of Arthur wanted to wander down to the pitch and see what they were up to, or possibly just stare at Eames from afar. But he had work to do and it would look odd if he started showing up there anyway. His level of passion for Quidditch would never and could never match Eames's, not that he wanted to try. Eames had played in school, a Beater, according to the Finneganet, he'd gotten an offer to play professionally but had turned it down. There was no mention of why or what he'd done between Hogwarts and Hogwarts.

The tapping on his bedroom window derailed his train of thought, and Arthur's heart leapt when he realized what it meant.

"Hey big guy," he said as he opened the window wide. Strix hopped through and Arthur retrieved the heavy glove from its place of honor at the front of his desk, pulling it on. With a nearly silent flutter of wings, Strix landed on his forearm and Arthur offered him an owl treat. He stroked the soft feathers while Strix swallowed it down, and Arthur grinned. "Good job, Strix. Good boy." He petted and murmured praise to the bird, who responded with good-natured hoots and beak clicks, until Arthur heard the prattle that was falling out of his own mouth. It was the same meaningless dribble he used to foist on "Mal", before it occurred to him that she might still be able to hear him. Stories about his day, funny things that had happened, details he'd learned about Eames.

It was the last one that made Arthur pinch his lips together. He had no idea what was going on with Mal, but Eames was different.

 _Actually, that's not true_ , he thought. _Eames is the exact same, thank Merlin. It's ME that's different._

That thought held a ring of truth that reverberated in his bones. "Strix," he said quietly, soothing his feathers with soft touches, "he makes me different." Then Arthur frowned. "No, that's not right. He _lets_ me be different. He lets me be who I already am. And I can be anything now, can't I?"

Strix hooted a low, contented sound, and Arthur pointed to the desk. He winced as Strix's talons grasped the wood; despite the myriad of other nicks and scratches on the surface, he'd like to buy Strix his own post. While he was looking at Strix's feet, he saw a small roll of parchment in the tube on his leg.

"Ah, I see. You were on a mission. Well, why didn't you tell me?" Arthur asked, moving to retrieve the paper.

Strix held his leg out and hooted knowingly and Arthur gave him another pellet because he was obviously brilliant and deserved it. He unfurled the tiny paper.

 _You are more to me than any of them has any idea; you are the atmosphere of beauty through which I see life; you are the incarnation of all lovely things...I think of you day and night. -Oscar Wilde_

Arthur didn't know who Oscar Wilde was, but he recognized his own handwriting. _Eames_ , he thought, then caught a glimpse of his reflection in the open window. He was smiling. He looked.. well, he looked happy. _His fault_ , Arthur thought, and smiled that much wider. He was still staring at the reflection, when he saw a flash of movement behind him. Spinning, he found himself keeping the small parchment out of sight behind his back, although he wasn't entirely sure why.

The silvery floating figure of Mal stood in his bedroom. The nostalgia of seeing her in this space was almost crippling. He wanted so much for her to be here he could almost ignore the scowl she wore and the disdainful way she was looking at Strix. Almost.

"What is this?" she asked without preamble, staring at Strix who stared right back.

Arthur moved closer to him. "This is my new owl, Strix. Do you like him?"

"It seems unnecessary," she said, gliding through Arthur's desk and examining what lay on the surface. Strix ruffled his feathers indignantly and flew to the top of the dresser to preen and ignore the ghost. Arthur clutched the furl of paper behind his back. "I came to ask why you haven't started performance reviews yet," Mal said accusingly.

"I was waiting for you to come back, obviously," Arthur deadpanned. It was a joke that would have made the old Mal throw her head back and laugh her contagious champagne bubble laughter. This Mal frowned at him.

"You couldn't have known that was going to happen," she said. "I am taking over again and your review will be the day after break. Please bring a list of your accomplishments, such as they are," she added with a sneer, "to my office for my perusal."

Her heavy accent was familiar, her cheekbones still high and proud, but if Arthur had needed confirmation, this was it. Mal was a very different person. Reviews in the past had been conducted in a 30 minute in-class observation, once a year, and Mal had let them choose the day and lesson. He had always avoided Fridays in order to be more accurate; Fridays were easy and the kids liked them. But she'd only ever assured him that he was doing just fine and asked him to provide a list of his goals and concerns and how she could help with both.

"Death doesn't suit you, I don't think," Arthur murmured. And then he took down his Occlumency shields and "shouted" at her, " _What happened to the Mal I knew? Please stay, sit, talk, be my friend again. I need you."_

Mal's face was impassive. "I don't have time for this," she clipped, and floated through his ceiling.

Arthur stared at the spot above him where she'd disappeared and had no idea if his experiment worked or not. He brought out the slip of paper and stared at it. He felt a sudden, violent need to preserve the smile he'd had earlier, the one that was his, outside of Mal, the one that he'd smiled without thinking about and for no reason other than he felt happy. Arthur dug through a drawer in the massive desk and unearthed a large frame. He sandwiched the slip of paper between the glass and set it gently on his bedside table, behind the precisely framed picture of Mal and him. She'd made him laugh in that picture, and he was glad to have it, because he felt that whatever was to come, he thought Mal might be done making him laugh.

He had work to do. He had lesson plans, the tutoring schedule for Ophelia to try to stuff into his already packed days, Dom's work, Mal's work, and figuring out what the hell to tell Nash when he showed up. But instead of thinking of any of that, Arthur found himself grabbing his copy of the Finneganet, curling up in his bed, and reading Oscar Wilde until he fell asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Posting another chapter today because the last one was short and I'm feeling eh today. So, have some smut with too much plot and a great rest of the week!

* * *

Friday before a long weekend was a teacher's worst nightmare. He'd checked with the staff if they needed in-class help and organized extra hallway monitors. Head Boys and Girls were excused from part of their classes for the day to help out, and Arthur still found himself cleaning up random fireworks from the bathrooms and stopping a literal food fight-where the food had been charmed to fight each other-luckily before it got too out-of-hand.

By the end of the day, Arthur was ready to snap. Nash had sent him an owl letting him know he'd be by first thing tomorrow morning, and Arthur had scowled through first hour. He'd had to be the "mean" professor all day and he was, frankly, sick of it. He wanted to curl up in front of his fireplace with the hot chocolate spell his mother had taught him and read a book. Or get into a wizarding duel. Or talk with Eames. But instead of doing any of that, he was busy helping two Slytherin girls he had given detention scour off the Bundimun infestation he'd found on the passage to the Slytherin common room.

"Ew, this smells so bad," one of the girls whispered under her breath, aiming an ineffective scouring charm at the patch while she tried to cover her nose with the sleeve of her robe.

"Careful there," Arthur frowned, "we'll use the secretions to make Doxycide in Potions class, so when you get done scouring it off, put it in the-"

There was a puff of smoke and a charred smell as the girl accidentally fried the Bundimun she'd been trying to clean off.

"-bucket," Arthur sighed. He opened his mouth to issue a new string of procedures when the sound of a commotion could be heard from upstairs. Arthur frowned again, directed the girls to keep working, and went to investigate.

Students had started to leave after the last class, so the large crowd gathered at the bottom of the stairs in the Entrance Hall surprised Arthur.

"Miss Pith, what's happening?" Arthur demanded as he saw her standing and whispering with another girl.

"Oh, uh, Professor!" Ophelia jumped, "Uh, Bradley and Jack were doing that stupid dueling thing they do again, when _she_ showed up."

Arthur felt his stomach drop and he moved so he could see the landing at the top of the staircase. Sure enough, two boys were standing at the top of the staircase, their backs to the gathering crowd down below. In front of them, hovering a few feet off the ground and seemingly growing larger by the moment, was Mal's ghost. She was berating the two students for misbehaviour in the hallway, citing the Hogwarts rules for proper use of spells outside of classes and getting louder and more intense as she went.

"Is that really Professor Cobb?" Ophelia asked, and Arthur wasn't sure the question was directed at him or just in general.

"You boys should know better! Because I've talked to you about this before," Mal's ghost shouted at the top of the stairs. She was floating closer to one of the boys and he took a half step back. "Haven't I, MR. SIMMONS?!" In her anger, her transparent figure charged the students standing in front of her.

Bradley Simmons, startled by her sudden lunge and forgetting she was quite obviously a ghost, took a full step back to get away from her. Mal floated right through him, but Bradley's foot stepped onto empty air at the top of the stairs. His arms pinwheeled helplessly for a second as he started to fall.

" _Immobulus!"_ Arthur shouted, his wand extended before he'd even thought about it. A few of the students shrieked, but Bradley was frozen mid-fall, his face an exaggerated grimace of fear looking behind him and his arms akimbo. Arthur pushed past students, doing his best to maintain a look of control as he reached Bradley and carefully maneuvered him a safe distance from the edge of the steps.

Mal floated over to him as he worked on the thawing charm. He clenched his jaw.

"Did you need a megaphone? Because that's the only way you could be louder." Arthur took down his Occlumency shields and "shouted" at her, _And you're being a bitch, and everyone can tell._

Mal's ghost raised an eyebrow at him, shrugged one shoulder, and floated nonchalantly through the ceiling. Arthur watched her go, one eye still on Bradley and noticed Dom standing in the hallway, staring at the space where Mal had disappeared. He looked shaken. Arthur frowned at him as he finished up removing the freezing charm and making sure Bradley and the other students were okay. The cluster of kids at the bottom of the stairs were breaking up, but Arthur would need to make an announcement to the school if they weren't able to get this fixed before break was over. Fuck. Sometimes he hated this.

He made his way to Dom and pulled him to the side. "We need to fix this. Mal is terrifying the students. She almost hurt someone."

"I've got this under control," Dom said, his jaw clenched.

Arthur wasn't impressed. "I'd hate to see it out of control."

Dom refused to look at him, just spun on his heel and walked away. Arthur sighed again. He seemed to be sighing a lot today.

Arthur headed back down to the dungeon to find a bucket full of mostly serviceable Bundimun secretions and not one detention student to be found. He checked his watch and they'd only cut out about ten minutes early and the infestation appeared to be taken care of, so he let it go. Christ, he was tired. He trudged the bucket to Yusef's storage facilities, taking care to seal and label it according to the posted sign.

"Don't forget to SEAL! And LABEL! EVERYTHING!"

The sign contained a picture of glaring Yusef, just daring you to leave something unlabeled, and it wrung a smile out of Arthur every time he saw it.

Arthur was willing to forgo fire and book for bed and oblivion by the time he got to his rooms. However, as he drew near, he saw a flicker of light in the sliver under the door and in an instant, his exhaustion was forgotten. He drew his wand cautiously, making his way to the handle but staying to the side as he opened the door.

It creaked open, slowly, clicking as it bounced against the stones on the other side. Arthur didn't move, just waited to see if anything would come out.

"Arthur?"

"Eames?" Arthur asked, bewildered. "What-" Arthur spun around the corner to find out why the other man was in his rooms, but the sight of Eames strolling out of his bedroom threw him off course.

"What is going on?" Arthur asked, his eyes flitting over every flat surface, which were currently covered in blazing candles. "What is all this, Eames?"

Eames sighed a long-suffering sigh. "Okay, but when I tell you what these are, you're going to feel silly that you didn't figure it out on your own."

Arthur furrowed his brow at him, but Eames just smiled, wide and crooked, back at him. He had left his spelled robes out of sight, but the peach and brown shirt he wore instead might have been worse. Arthur fought the urge to roll his eyes at the man. "Look," he confided, "I'm not really sure I'll be good company tonight, to be honest." Arthur dropped a file of work to do on the growing pile on his table and turned to Eames. "I'm in a pretty shitty mood, and I'm not sure you want me to hang out with you."

Eames shrugged, unbothered, and cast another spell to light the remaining candles.

"I've met you before. You can't scare me that easily." He grinned, and Arthur felt himself relax almost against his will. "Come here."

Arthur raised an eyebrow but walked forward into Eames's embrace. His strong arms circled Arthur's shoulders and Arthur buried his nose in the soft skin above Eames's collar. He breathed in a deep breath of the warm, woodsy smell of Eames. He could smell chalk, and the outside, and under it something indefinably Eames. He wrapped his arms around Eames's waist and lowered his head to his shoulder. Eames dropped a kiss to his temple.

"Have you eaten?" Eames asked as he stroked his wide hand over Arthur's shoulders and neck.

Arthur hummed and melted into his touch. "Hmm, yeah."

"Then come on," Eames said and dropped his arms in order to tug Arthur into his bedroom.

He stowed their wands on top of Arthur's dresser and Arthur unzipped his robes, taking in all the candles Eames had lit here too. The bed taunted him lewdly so he refused to look at it, instead busying himself hanging the robe and removing an imaginary piece of lint.

 _What is my problem? It's not like this is the first time._ But Arthur knew what his problem was. The first time had been frantic, pheromone-fueled, flat-out sex. This felt very different. This was deliberate and potent. He could feel Eames's eyes on him and he tried to swallow the ridiculous nervousness that was coming over him as he turned to him.

Eames's face was intense, and Arthur felt a little pinned under it. He swallowed, determined not to back up when Eames strode toward him. His eyes flickered everywhere, but when Eames reached him, he slowed and placed a gentle hand on Arthur's jaw.

"Hey," Eames rumbled, pressing a delicate kiss to the corner of Arthur's mouth. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do. I just wanted to see you tonight."

Arthur let out a breathy half-laugh at himself and drew in a breath. He let it out slowly, his eyes closed and his forehead tipped against Eames's. "I'm glad you came," he admitted.

"Yeah?" Eames ran his palms over Arthur's shoulders and arms. "Would you still be glad if I said I wanted to see _all_ of you tonight?"

Arthur drew back far enough to raise an eyebrow at him, a slight smile on his lips. Eames smiled back, unabashed, and then kissed him. Arthur melted, a sudden crashing of all his walls as soon as Eames's tongue touched his. Eames reached for his collar and Arthur tilted his head to deepen the kiss, but Eames pulled back. He placed a sweet kiss on Arthur's lips, then focused on the buttons of Arthur's shirt, undressing him with care. He stopped at Arthur's pants, just maneuvered him back towards the bed.

"Lie down," Eames said, "on your front."

Arthur obeyed, kicking his shoes and socks off as he went. He stretched out on his stomach, arms under his head and closed his eyes, a shiver working his way through him as he heard a rustle of fabric behind him.

He felt Eames's bulk dip the bed before settling over his thighs. There was a spicy, earthy scent and then Eames was touching him, a warm oil spreading over his back, kneading the muscles there. Eames pressed with this thumbs, his strong fingers working over the knots of tension Arthur had been carrying all day. Arthur's eyes rolled back in his head when Eames found a particularly tight spot in his shoulders and an inhuman gargle made its way out of his throat.

Eames chucked, low and warm. "Good?"

"Gnnh, so good," Arthur groaned. "You're hired," he muttered nonsensically, all higher level though gone out the window because Eames's hands were fucking magical and they were casting some kind of spell that qualified as dangerous.

He was working on a kink in Arthur's lower back and Arthur muffled his moan into the quilt. "Merlin's beard," Eames swore, "you have got to stop making those noises."

"What noises?" Arthur rasped into the bed.

Eames's hands straddled Arthur's hips as he leaned low and whispered in Arthur's ear. "The ones that make me want to fuck you."

Arthur stretched his hands far above his head and rolled his hips up, letting out a long, low groan as he felt Eames's erection pressing into him.

"Fuck," Eames whispered, his hands going to Arthur's ass and kneading there too. "You are just…" but he trailed off as Arthur reached beneath himself to pop the button on his pants.

Eames made a sound low in his throat, and Arthur hid his smile in the quilt. Eames smoothed his palms from Arthur's shoulder blades to the waistband of his pants, sliding his fingertips underneath the loosened material. He scrunched them down, as far as he could, each millimeter of skin exposed he followed with his lips and tongue. Arthur's shallow breaths huffed around his face, every nerve and though focused on Eames touching him. He squeezed his eyes shut as his pants slid halfway down his ass, Eames's teeth nibbling gently right where they stopped.

"Tell me you want this," Eames rumbled, working his way back up Arthur's body, dropping kisses everywhere.

"I want this," Arthur whispered, "but…"

Eames froze. "But?"

"Can we pause for a second?" Arthur felt like an idiot for asking. "I just need to…" He pushed up on his arms and Eames jumped back like he'd been caught doing something illegal. Arthur sat back and smiled at him, grasping one of Eames's hands in his and squeezing his fingers. Then he slid off the bed and grabbed his wand. Pointing it at the four corners of his room, he muttered protection spells that would keep out a wide range of things, but were some of the best known barriers against ghosts. He also, blushing furiously, laid down soundproofing charms while he was at it. When he was done, Eames was leaning back on his hands, watching him with a strange look on his face.

"There," Arthur cleared his throat. "That's done. Sorry to spoil the mood."

Eames shook his head with something like wonder in his eyes. "Don't apologize," he insisted. "So, just us now?"

Arthur set the wand back on top of his dresser, resting it snugly next to Eames's. He nodded, then pushed aside his embarrassment and looked Eames in the eye. "Can we try that again?"

Eames rose and stood next to him and when he brushed a thumb over Arthur's lips, Arthur's eyes slipped shut. He pressed a kiss to the pad of Eames's thumb, letting his hands skate up his chest, pressing the shake out of his fingers. He leaned in and kissed Eames, pressing himself in a hot line up against his body and letting Eames's tongue shut off his brain. The rough pads of Eames's hands scraped over Arthur's chest, his nipples hard and wanting and making him hiss when Eames lavished attention on them. Arthur fought with the opening on Eames's pants, flushing when Eames backed up and took over. He opened his own, shoving them down his thighs along with his least favorite pair of briefs before Eames could see them.

Then Eames was standing in his bedroom, naked and hard, and Arthur couldn't breathe. "God," he whispered, unaware he was even talking. His nails dug into his palm, grounding himself and bringing him down a notch. Between being touched by Eames like he was something precious and the way Eames was looking at him like he wanted to destroy him, Arthur thought he might go off like a firework if he didn't get it together.

His eyes raked over Eames, devoting as much as he could to memory. When he got to Eames's cock, proud and jutting, a small sound escaped his lips and Eames's cock twitched, hard. Then they were both moving, hands grasping and mouths crashing together, stumbling backwards towards the bed.

In between whispered, "You like that?" and "God, yes," came a very serious, "Can I…?" and a fervent, "You fucking better," and Eames was touching him, stroking over his rim and lapping at the juncture between his groin and thigh. Arthur groaned as the tip of Eames's thumb breached him. They both whispered, "Lubricus," at the same time and Arthur was the first to laugh when the wetness sopped over Eames's hand, ruining his sheets. He laughed at the surprise on Eames's face, then at the flush that rose up his cheeks, then at the cleaning spell Eames muttered and when Eames finally chuckled back, Arthur kissed him.

"You are fucking beautiful when you laugh, darling," Eames said, and Arthur blamed the hitch in his breathing and the thrill in his chest on the finger that Eames slid inside him at the same time. Eames's wide, thick fingers were clever, stroking and seeking and Arthur babbled out encouragement.

By the time Eames worked in a second finger, Arthur thought his dick might just explode. "Now, Eames," he begged.

"You sure?" Eames asked, and Arthur nodded, using the seconds while Eames cast his protection spell to draw in deep breaths and grasp the slats in the headboard. Eames paused, eyeing him and Arthur rolled his hips purposefully, reminding him. Eames's gaze darkened and he gripped himself around the base of his erection, lining up and gritting out, "Ready?"

"Fucking _yes,_ " Arthur growled, then gasped at the burn as Eames pushed in. He savored the ache, letting it bring him back from the edge. He'd forgotten how big Eames was, and it had been a while since he'd done this. He forced himself to relax as Eames bottomed out and they both panted together for a second.

Arthur pulled back, seeking Eames's face. He brushed the sweaty fringe off of Eames's forehead and when he caught his eye, rolled his hips again. Eames groaned this time, and Arthur felt a swell of pride. _I did that to him. Me._ Arthur grinned and opened his thighs even wider, taking Eames that much deeper.

Eames grinned back, his crooked teeth flashing in the low light. "Good?" he whispered.

"Very," Arthur said back. Eames stroked him from hip to knee, his wide palm pressing up into the back on Arthur's thigh. He leaned into it, his weight pinning Arthur, and then started to move, pulling out and pressing in, deeper and deeper strokes each time.

"Ah, _ah,"_ Arthur keened, before clamping his bottom lip between his teeth. _Fuck, that feels… fucking FUCK!_ he thought as Eames shifted at hit the perfect spot.

Eames noticed, of course, because he adjusted his angle and picked up speed, slamming into Arthur again and again. "Christ, pet, you keep making those _noises_ ," he grunted, and Arthur had no idea what he was talking about. He grappled at Eames's arms, then back to the headboard, his hips rolling of their own accord. The hand Eames was using to hold down his leg slipped and Arthur almost cried when he stopped to maneuver his knees to a slightly different position.

He could hear the grin in Eames's voice when he said, "You just hold on there, pet. I've gottcha." He tossed Arthur's legs over his shoulders and then cradled his ass with his firm hands, lifting and squeezing. Then he started to move. He rocked into Arthur with tiny thrusts, then longer, deeper, Eames leaning over him and pressing him almost in half. Eames found his prostate again with one more shift and Arthur yelped, fingers digging into Eames's muscled shoulders.

"Gnngh," Eames groaned, eyebrows furrowed, "so good, Arthur,..."

His focus was maddeningly accurate and Arthur's brain could not physically process what was happening as Eames brushed a hand around his cock and he came, hard, spurting over Eames's chest and belly, at only the slightest of touches. The throbbing sensations continued as Eames pounded into him, still striking his prostate on every thrust and Arthur tried to tell him _yes,_ and _Christ, that's good,_ but he couldn't form coherent words, couldn't think. The rock of the mattress and the creak of the bedsprings were perfectly timed with the sounds Arthur couldn't hold back, and Eames's breathing was ragged.

"Ah, God, don't stop," Arthur begged when he finally found his breath, and Eames fucked him harder. Arthur tried to listen, because his eyes kept rolling back in his head and he couldn't _focus_ , but the slap of skin and the panting moans bouncing around the room were the stuff of fantasies. And still Eames drug the world's longest orgasm out of him, or was this another one? until Arthur was crying out and coming _again._

"Bloody buggering fuck," Eames swore, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled his seed inside Arthur without warning, cursing and collapsing.

"I'm sorry, darling," Eames panted, dropping kisses over Arthur's face. "Fuck, I'm sorry."

"Are you kidding me?" Arthur gaped as he tried to make his limbs function again. "You're sorry?! Sorry for what?!"

Eames hefted himself on one elbow and pulled out, pausing to catch his breath. "I'm sorry," he repeated, "that was not my best. You're just so… I can't help myself around you."

Arthur blinked up at him. "That was not your best?" he asked again, aghast. "Christ," he said, his head falling back against the pillows. "You're going to kill me. I'm going to die."

* * *

"Why didn't you ever play professionally?"

Arthur was using Eames's bicep as a pillow, which couldn't have been comfortable and it was too warm anyway, but before he moved, he asked the question that had been on his mind for a long time. "And where did you go after you graduated?"

Eames shifted and Arthur released his arm, scooting away so he could see his face. Eames looked surprisingly closed off. Then he smiled.

"Bit of this and that. I was all over. Sort of a world traveler, so to speak," Eames said.

Arthur thought about that, about what Eames said and hadn't said.

"Is it a secret?" he asked quietly, studying a tattoo and keeping his eyes down, because he could sense a fragility in Eames that he hadn't seen before.

Eames propped his head on his hand and watched Arthur. "It is, actually," he murmured, grasping Arthur's hand. "At least, it has been up to now. Partly because that part of my life is very unbecoming a Hogwarts professor." Eames licked his lips and Arthur could see his discomfort in every line of his body. "But mostly because it's not really something to be proud of. It was a long time ago and not who I am anymore."

Arthur was fascinated. Eames could say anything right now and Arthur would believe him. Arthur's imagination was running wild. He stroked Eames's fingers and tried to quiet his heart rate. "Does it have anything to do with how you were already in my rooms when I got here, even though I didn't let you in?"

Eames shifted and Arthur looked up. He stopped Eames as he tried to roll away. "Wait," Arthur insisted, grabbing his shoulder. "I'm not mad." Eames looked skeptical, but Arthur continued, "It's just that I'm the fucking DADA professor and I do know my way around a protection spell." He tipped a grin at him. "I am impressed, Mr. Eames."

Eames, ever a chameleon and always comfortable wherever he was, looked like he was trying to slip back into a costume that was too tight. He gave Arthur a half smile and muttered, "Your condescension, as always, is much appreciated, Arthur, thank you."

Arthur just chuckled and rolled into Eames's bulk. He pressed his lips against Eames's neck and breathed in. "Will you stay?" he asked, tentative. "I'm trying to dream a little bigger."

He could feel Eames relax in inches. Warm breath caressed his scalp, warming his whole body. Arthur felt Eames's arm settle over him and sleep tugged at him, even though he wasn't convinced he wasn't already dreaming when he heard the soft whisper, "Always."


	12. Chapter 12

Arthur woke to a tapping on his door frame and a bladder that was threatening to explode and kill him.

"Uuuggh," he groaned into his pillow.

"Ah, you're awake," Eames said cheerily from the doorway. "Pancake?"

"Yes," Arthur insisted from the pillow because he was going to get up, he was, in just a-

"Good, because I made you some. Didn't you say you had a work thing today? Did you still want me there?"

Arthur's head popped up as anxiety flooded his previously blissed out limbs. "Oh Merlin's shorts, I'd almost managed to forget." He dragged himself out of bed and through the bathroom, summoning his dressing gown and plopping himself at the table. He only started to perk up when he got some food in him.

"Seriously, Eames, these pan cakes are really good. You should show the house elves how to make them."

Eames looked amused but took another bite. "So," he said, wiping his lips. "What's on the docket for today?"

Arthur sighed, setting down his fork. "I suppose I should have told you sooner. It's about Mal." At Eames's curious head tilt, Arthur swallowed and forged ahead. "She left a letter. It was hidden, something she knew only I would find. Expect she sent a copy to the Prophet too. In it…" Arthur fussed with his fork, looking at Eames again. "Look, this is kind of sensitive. So I need you to be… discrete."

To Arthur's surprise, Eames looked a bit disturbed. "Ah, if this has to do with Mal and Dom, I don't know if I really want to-"

"What?" Arthur grimaced. "No. No, Merlin, no."

"Ah," Eames said, "well in that case…" Eames made an 'X' over his heart and gave Arthur a 'go on' motion.

Arthur chewed his lip. "You saw the fit she had." Eames nodded. "Well, she had them sometimes when she was using Legilimency beyond her considerable abilities. And she'd started having them… frequently."

Eames was done eating, but Arthur had lost his appetite. He pushed the cake around the plate. "She was extracting thoughts from prominent wizards and storing them as Pensieve memories," he said, a single sentence that sounded so much more sinister now that it wasn't connected to Mal's familiar and lovely face. When he took away everything he knew about Mal, her kind heart and loud laugh, her love for her students and family and Arthur, her actions were terrifying. And not strictly legal. And had implications that anyone could see could be used with criminal intent.

Eames sat back, crossing his not insignificant arms. "What kind of thoughts?"

Arthur checked his watch. "Give me a few to get ready and I'll show you."

Eames nodded and that was how 20 minutes later, after Eames had spelled the dishes clean and Arthur had selected his no-bullshit robes, they stood outside Mal's office staring her down.

"Mal, you can't change the password," Arthur protested hotly.

She sneered at him and floated a few inches off the ground, just enough to be taller than Arthur so he had to look up to see her. "And why not, Arthur? Is it not my office? Am I not the Headmistress of this school?"

"I don't know, Mal, okay?!" Arthur exploded. The beat of silence that followed was deafening and Arthur drew in a breath and let it out. "I don't know. It's unprecedented. A ghost has never been Headmistress of this school before."

"You said yourself I haven't been replaced," she pointed out, her hands on her hips. "I am fully capable of running this school, and I don't need _you_ -"

"The Board of Governors gets to decide that, Mal," Arthur cut her off before her words could sting him any deeper. This wasn't really her. This wasn't his Mal, challenging him and cutting him down. "You know how this works.'

"You keep telling yourself what you know," she said, looking down her nose at him. "But what do you believe? What do you feel?"

Arthur felt Eames behind him shift just slightly closer and he lifted his chin and looked her in the eye. "I feel like you're not the real Mal. You're not her, you're not the same. You're a shade of my former friend."

She bristled, floating away from him. "I am still me. I can still do this work. I have unfinished business!"

"No, you don't!" Arthur's fists started to ache where he had them clenched by his sides. "Mal, if you had unfinished business, it would be with your children, not this school. And not," he headed her off before she could say it, "with those thoughts you've been extracting, either."

She opened her mouth to protest when there was a loud _*crack*,_ and a voice sounded from the area around Arthur's knee.

"Pardon me, Professor," a house elf squeaked, "a visitor is here."

Arthur clenched his jaw, nodding at him. He looked back to where Mal had been floating moments before, but she was gone. "Show him to the Great Hall," Arthur instructed. "No, wait," he changed his mind, remembering the remaining students who stayed at Hogwarts over break. "My classroom. I'll be there momentarily. Thank you."

The house elf _cracked_ away and Arthur turned to Eames. His robes caught the light let in by the arched windows and Arthur felt a little better and the sight of the standard black robes with subtle gray pinstriping. Because of course the pinstriping was actually marching ants if you looked closely. And Arthur did, because he turned and pressed his face into Eames's shoulder. Eames didn't react right away, hesitantly gripping Arthur's arms as he leaned into Eames's strength, needing him and taking it, trying not to overthink it. When Arthur had calmed, he stepped out of Eames's space, sliding his cool aloofness on and his standard Occlumency shields. Eames watched him, and Arthur cleared his throat.

"The visitor is Steven Nash, editor of The Daily Prophet. Mal sent him a copy of the letter telling him about thoughts she's extracting," he spoke quickly. "He's been badgering me to see them since she died, and I didn't know what to do."

Eames's eyebrows lifted. "Ah," he said. "That explains the headlines the last few days."

Arthur's mouth twisted into a scowl. "Yes. He's good at being passive aggressive." He pushed the thought aside and met Eames's eyes. "He will have to report something, but if I can get out of showing him any of the thoughts, I think we should try. I've only looked at two, but Eames… the stuff in there…"

"What, darling? What's in there?" Eames prompted when Arthur closed his eyes.

Arthur frowned. "Secrets. Secrets from the top wizarding families, people in positions of power in the Ministry, famous witches and wizards… Merlin's balls, I don't even know if they're _true_ , and the information she has stored could change lives for centuries to come."

If Eames's eyebrows had been raised before, they were in his hairline now, the forehead crinkles Arthur adored showing his surprise. "Oh, my," he murmured. "That's… hm."

Arthur snorted. "Yeah. It is."

"Can we run with that, then?" Eames asked. "You can't publish this for the sake of the community at large?"

"I don't know," Arthur admitted. "Nash is kind of an ass, but it is actually his job, to tell the truth. Mal may have actually bought us some time with her password change. If I can't get in, I can't show him."

"Hm, yes, but once the Board assigns a new Headmaster, it'll override and you'll be back at square one."

Arthur squared his jaw. "I'll figure something out," he said, a fire of determination lit in his belly.

Eames gave him a look he wasn't quite sure how to interpret, but said, "Alright, let's go tell him the bad news."

Arthur nodded and they walked the distance to his classroom. Arthur paused with his hand on the doorknob, not looking at Eames. "Also, he's my ex," he said, then pushed open the door, striding into the room with a defiant stare.

Nash had already set himself up at Arthur's desk at the front of the room, notebook and Quick Quotes quill ready. He stood as Arthur entered the room, wearing a confident smirk Arthur wanted to obliterate off his face. Behind him, Eames entered quietly, a few steps behind.

"Ah, Arthur. So good of you to join me." He waved his hand graciously towards the seat in front of Arthur's desk, but Arthur would be damned if he'd sit in it.

"Mr. Nash," Arthur greeted him, his stance and voice stiff. "My apologies, I seem to have double booked some appointments this morning. Perhaps we could-"

"Not on your life," Nash cut him off, and Arthur frowned in acquiescence. Worth a shot.

"Very well. I'm sure you know Professor Eames?" He gestured to Eames and Nash glared at Arthur before glancing over.

"Of him," Nash said, not acknowledging the introduction. Eames raised one eyebrow but didn't seem offended at the rude brush off.

"Arthur, you know why I'm here. I want to see the…" he checked his notes spread out on Arthur's desk, "... 'collective thoughts of the prominent witches and wizards' that Mal promised. I have written proof that I would be able to inquire for them at the Headmaster's office, so why, pray tell, am I standing in your grubby classroom?"

Arthur bristled at that but gritted his teeth. "Because I was hoping to talk some sense into you," Arthur forced out. Nash didn't look impressed. However, the quill hovering in midair behind him was still writing rapidly, and Arthur took it as a sign that Nash was at least listening, even though it was writing for far longer than he'd talked.

He took in a deep breath through his nose. "Look. I know what Mal said in the letter. And I know you want access to them, but I think they're potentially impossible to corroborate for truths, and I think they could be _dangerous_."

"Why? Have you seen any of these thoughts?"

Arthur shifted. "Yes."

"Whose did you see?"

"My own."

Nash smirked at him. "Anyone else's?"

Arthur flashed a glance at Eames. "No comment."

Nash fixed him with a look. "Arthur."

"Steven," Arthur retorted mockingly. He saw Eames's jaw clench and mentally kicked himself.

Nash sneered, his teeth flashing. "Fine. What makes you think they could be dangerous?"

Eames met his eyes and nodded. Arthur turned back to Nash. This was his chance to convince him. He could put a stopper in this whole mess right now if he did this right. "First of all, exposing that thoughts can be collected this way would cause a panic. Secondly, letting the public know that it's already been done, en masse, and that the thoughts are not under their own control would cause widespread chaos. Not to mention, the thoughts might not even be true and there's no way to prove if they are or aren't. It's all speculative and unfounded and could be extremely detrimental to the community at large. It puts Hogwarts in a bad light, it puts Mal in a bad light, and I can't let you do it, St-Nash."

Nash looked like he hadn't heard a word. He leaned forward. "But do you _think_ they're true? The ones you saw?"

Arthur's fingers twitched toward his wand because he wanted to jinx Nash so badly his teeth ached. But that could also be from the way he was clenching his jaw.

"As I just said, I have no way of knowing that."

"But what do you believe? What do you feel?" Nash asked.

Arthur's eyebrows shot up at the wording. Mal had said that to them just minutes before. He was shocked, and stressed, and had obviously lost his fucking mind because he blurted out the stupidest thing he could have said.

"Have you been talking to Mal?"

As soon as the question left his lips and the quill froze in midair, Arthur let loose a mental string of cuss words even his students would blink at. He could feel Eames staring at him and his ears started to heat up.

Nash sat in front of him, blinking.

"I… what do you mean?" Nash asked. "Mal's dead, Arthur, how could I talk to her?"

Arthur said nothing, just switching to a scowl.

"She _is_ dead, right Arthur?"

"Yes," Eames stepped in smoothly. "She is."

"Oh, the mountain speaks!" Nash snipped, sparing only a glance at Eames before glaring at Arthur like he wanted to shake him. "Arthur!"

Arthur sighed in resignation. "I can't believe I said that. Fuck. Fine. Mal is a ghost."

Eames's head swiveled to stare at him again, but Nash's face lit up with a paroxysm of glee. "Can I talk to her?" he asked, leaning even further forward into Arthur's space. "When did she come back? What has she said? Do the students know? How do the staff feel about this? How does Mal feel about the new Headmaster taking over her job?"

Arthur put on his most neutral expression, which was another mistake because he forgot how well Nash knew him.

"Arthur!" he practically squealed. "Does Mal know that there's a new Headmaster taking over her job?"

"Technically," Arthur gritted out, "there isn't a new Headmaster yet. The Board of Governors doesn't meet until the end of the month." Merlin's beard, why couldn't he _stop talking_?

Nash paused, his eyes wide. "Arthur," he asked, his voice hushed. "Is Mal still trying to run the school? _Is_ she still running the school?"

Eames shifted his body weight closer to Nash. "Alright, I believe that's enough. This interview is over. I will walk you out now."

"But," Nash sputtered, "No, I haven't seen the thoughts yet. I was promised-"

"Well, you were promised by a dead woman, not me, and I say you can't!" Arthur shouted, his patience snapping as he stood with his hands curled into fists.

Nash stood, glaring Arthur down. "You can't stop me, Arthur. She obviously wanted me to see them or she wouldn't have sent the letter." Then he brightened, an oily smirk spreading over his face. "I know! Why don't we ask _her_ what she wants?" Nash suggested.

Arthur sighed through his nose. "Look, Steven," he said, trying to get his temper under control. "Even if I wanted to, I can't let you in. And I think it's pretty damn obvious that she, in fact, _didn't_ want you to see them, otherwise she wouldn't have changed the-" He stopped himself, but the damage was done.

"Changed the what?" Nash probed, practically salivating now. "The password? Did she change the password to the Headmaster's Tower? Oh, fucking hell, Arthur, what else has she done? Did she lock everyone else out? What about Dom, he's the Deputy Headmaster, can he get in? I need to talk to him. Now, Arthur."

Nash was standing in his face, using the Stern Voice he employed whenever he was trying to get Arthur to "see reason." It got under Arthur's skin every time. He could see Eames chomping at the bit to get in Nash's face.

"No," Arthur said, his voice firm. "This interview is over. I will walk you out now."

"Arthur," Nash said, but Arthur didn't let him get any further. His wand slipped from his sleeve into his waiting fingers and while he pointed it at the floor, the threat was clear. Nash knew better than anyone how much Arthur practiced, how well he could aim a spell, and how unforgiving he could be when he was pissed.

"I said," Arthur glared, "I'll walk you out. Now."

Nash's wand slipped into his own and. "Try it. I would love to see this in print."

Eames stepped forward. "Alright, mate, have it your way. Let's go to the Tower."

Both Arthur and Nash turned to gape at him. Arthur bristled internally at the implication that he can't take care of himself, but Nash just snapped his jaw shut and nodded in triumph. Eames gestured for Nash to lead the way and he swept by them in a swirl of robes. Arthur said nothing, just moved to follow them, anger radiating off him in waves.

Behind Nash's back, Arthur shot Eames an exaggerated _what the fuck are you doing?_ look.

Eames mouthed _It's locked!_ miming turning a key.

Oh _._ Arthur blinked and followed the two of them down the hall. They almost made it to the Tower.

"Mal!" Nash yelled. The silvery figure floated at the end of the hall, glaring down at him as Arthur and Eames trailed behind.

She looked down her nose at Nash. "It's Professor Cobb," she clipped.

"Mal, what's been going on at Hogwarts?" Nash hollered at her like she hadn't spoken. "Who is making the decisions now? Are the parents and students aware?" His voice got louder and more panicked as she floated away, deep disgust and disinterest mixing on her face. "What about the staff?"

But Mal was gone, floating through the ceiling, and Arthur had never been more relieved to see her go.

"Merlin's bloody beard," Nash whispered. "I mean, I always knew you were an unimaginative prick, but I never thought that dragon dung ghost story was _true_." He looked at Arthur, his eyes sharp. "I'm going to the Tower with or without you."

Arthur gave him a rueful smile and part of him hoped Mal would be there waiting so she could answer Nash's damnable questions. But when they got to the gargoyle, Mal was nowhere to be seen, and Arthur breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Old Mal would have handled him with grace and aplomb. Ghost Mal… he wouldn't hold his breath.

"You're waiting for a train…" the gargoyle intoned.

"Because we'll be together," Arthur interrupted, hoping to speed this along as much as possible. His speech about Nash needing to leave since the password wouldn't work died on his tongue as the gargoyle swept aside and Arthur and Eames shared a panic-stricken gaze.

Nash made a move to start up the stairs and Arthur darted in front of him. "Wait," he pleaded, but faltered at how to persuade him.

Nash glowered at Arthur. "Get out of my way." He pushed past, and Arthur scrambled up the steps after him, Eames on his heels.

"Nash. Nash! Just stop, okay?" Nash was in the middle of the office before Arthur grabbed him by the arm. "Steven! Listen to me, alright?"

He caught the sharp intake of breath from Eames behind him, but Arthur focused on Nash, trying to make him see reason, trying not to shake him.

"I know it's your job," Arthur placated Nash, and it worked. Nash stopped and looked at Arthur, though his nostrils were still flaring. "I know you want what's best for everyone, but I need you to understand that sharing this information might not be what's best for everyone."

"How very condescendingly benevolent of you, Arthur. I dearly love how you've decided what's best for everyone."

" _Nash_ -"

"He's right," Eames interrupted. Arthur turned to Eames, seething, but Eames just shrugged. "He is. You shouldn't get to decide that. Show him."

"But-"

"Show him his own," Eames suggested, calm. "Then he'll get to see how dangerous they might actually be."

Arthur clicked his jaw shut, scowl flitting between the two men in front of him. "Fine," he said through pinched lips and turned to the cupboard. When he swung the doors open, the stunned silence behind him told him that neither of them understood fully what Mal had done until that moment.

Arthur slid out a shelf, scanning furiously for Nash's vial before he could get a good look at the names in front of him. "Fuck," he whispered and grabbed his wand. " _Accio_ ," he said and a vial flew off the shelf and landed in his hand. Eames stepped up beside him, helping him slide shelves closed.

"Nash," Arthur turned. "Look, just don't…"

"Arthur, for fuck's sake," Nash said, stepping forward and grabbing the vial. He emptied the contents into the Pensive and pushed his face in without waiting for a reply.

Arthur and Eames traded glances.

"Did you look at his?" Eames asked, his voice low.

Arthur stared at him in mute horror. "What? No! I don't want to know that shit about him," Arthur said.

"Then… whose, if I may ask?"

Eames wasn't teasing. Arthur swallowed. "Cornelius Fudge," he admitted. "But!" he spoke into Eames's telling silence, "I didn't look at all of it. It was one scene, er, memory, I think. But it was like a bad dream or something."

Arthur felt the warmth spread up his neck and knew his ears were flaming. He tugged on one self-consciously. "Look, I didn't know what it was, really, I should have just done mine, but-"

Before Eames could respond, Nash reeled backward, gasping, and landed hard on the stone floor.

"Nash?" Arthur asked, moving to his side. "You okay?"

Nash sat up and turned to Arthur, his eyes wide. He was panting slightly, but Arthur was holding his breath. _Please, please... Merlin save us if he decides he wants to publish something anyway…_

But Nash didn't need to speak for Arthur to know his decision. He should have had little dollar signs in his eyes the way they did on Muggle cartoons. Arthur felt every shield he owned slide into place and he put his wand in his hand almost without thinking.

"No," he said preemptively. "Nash, _no_. This is not a good idea."

"More," Nash said, getting to his feet. "I want to see more."

"No!" Arthur exclaims. "Don't you get it? You can't write about any of this! If people knew-"

"This is information, Arthur!" Nash countered, chest puffed out. "This should be free reign of the people! I mean, sharing information brings only good."

"But some of those witches and wizards are these kids' parents!" Arthur sputtered. "They shouldn't be subjected to that!"

Nash glared at Arthur. "And what would you do with these if not give them to the public? Hmm? Turn them over to the _Ministry_?!" he sneered. "Don't you want to be informed and be your own rulers? Or would you rather be ignorant and have someone else rule over you?"

"Alright, that's enough," Arthur said coldly. " _Silencio._ "

Nash glared and railed against Arthur, his face going red and his finger pointing, but no sound escaped his lips. Arthur let him go for a few more seconds before he grabbed Nash by the front of his robes and brought his wand to Nash's throat.

"Nash," Arthur whispered, and Nash stopped his silent shouting. "I'm going to tell you this one time, and one time only." His voice dropped even lower. "Get. Out." He let go of Nash abruptly and he stumbled backward. "You are going to walk down those steps and out the front door, and once you do the spell will drop. You are going to stay the hell away from my students and my school. And you are going to be _responsible_ about what you print. Do you understand me." Arthur's cold, controlled voice left no room for arguments, not that Nash had a choice.

He glared at Arthur as if he was trying to set him on fire, but Arthur wasn't the DADA professor for nothing. Nash wouldn't be slinging any spells, verbal or nonverbal, until he crossed the threshold. And if Nash wasn't on his way out the front door in the next few minutes, he would find himself wishing he was, with feelings of dread, nausea, and hallucinations the least of his worries.

However, with the way Eames was glaring at Nash like he wanted him to start something, he might not need any additional motivation to leave.

The front door closed behind Nash with a heavy sound, a final sound, but Arthur knew it wasn't the end. He checked his watch. They had 10 hours, give or take, before the first owls would hit the air with their copies of The Daily Prophet, and Arthur had a pretty good idea what the front page would be.

Arthur turned to Eames, a harsh frown on his mouth and his wand in his hand. He opened his mouth to say something, but a loud * _crack*_ filled the air.

"Professor," the old house elf said, bowing low, "there is a visitor."

"Another one?" Arthur blurted. "Who?"

"A Miss Ariadne Parker, from America," the elf sniffed, "apparently."

"Ah, shit," Arthur groaned. "I can't do this right now, I can't. I've got to deal with-"

"What do you need, Arthur?" Eames asked, gently.

His soothing voice grounded Arthur and he took a breath. "An office. And someone to conduct an interview. She's supposed to be the new Occlumency professor, provided she's as good in person as she is on paper. And she could possibly help with some of the Deputy Headmaster duties until…"

Arthur trailed off, but Eames knew what he was trying to say. "Don't worry about it, darling. I can take care of that."

"Does it-" Arthur panicked but clamped his mouth shut. He didn't need Eames by his side at all times. He'd managed without him all this time, it shouldn't feel like a physical loss when he wasn't standing next to him at all times. It wasn't a missing limb, it was Eames.

"Does it? What, darling?"

Arthur shook his head fiercely. He was done. He was so sick of doing things for the sake of someone else. "I'm asking Cobb. It's his damn job, he can deal with one damn thing."

He turned, addressing the elf. "Please show her to Professor Cobb's office. I'll have him meet her there. Thank you." The * _crack*_ of the elf disapparating echoed in the empty room and Arthur gritted his teeth and focused. It took a second, but he finally produced a Patronus and sent the silvery owl down the hall to Dom's residence.

"Come with me," Arthur said, shoulders back. "We have some calls to make."


	13. Chapter 13

He needed to get to his fireplace, he needed to fix this. He could do this. How could he have let this happen? He should have been prepared for Nash to be a dick, Nash was _always_ a dick. Except now he was going to bring down Hogwarts, and Mal, and maybe Arthur with them. Arthur spun on his heel to head to his rooms but was stopped by Eames's hand on his elbow.

"Mine is closer," he explained, tugging Arthur down the hall.

He blinked at the back of Eames's head, hair neatly combed down and deceptively pinstriped robes fluttering, and Arthur felt marginally better. Eames was here. He was here for Arthur and he wasn't going anywhere. Arthur followed him down the hall.

Eames let them in and stalked through his bed/living room to the mostly empty room Arthur had spied the last time he'd visited. Arthur shut the front door carefully behind him, curious.

"He should be able to hear you from here," Eames instructed, throwing open the window as he spoke.

"He?" Arthur asked, but he wasn't listening. There must have been a cloaking spell over it the last time, because there's no way he could have missed the easel in the corner before. It held a massive painting, clearly unfinished, of… well, Arthur wasn't sure what it was. The colors were as vibrant as the shapes were vague, and he took in the details Eames had started to lay in for one section and was overwhelmed.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten about him already," Eames said, his voice teasing, but then he turned and saw where Arthur was staring he stilled.

Arthur blinked at him. "Eames," he breathed, "you're an artist."

And as if that hadn't been surprise enough, Arthur watched Eames's cheeks and neck flush with color before he turned back to the window, making a big show of opening it wider.

"Eames! Are you… are you blushing?" he asked, watching as he rubbed the back of his neck and looked anywhere but at Arthur.

Arthur looked around the room, taking in the beautifully lit photographs on the walls, some subjects moving gracefully and some oddly frozen in their elegant poses.

"What the hell for? These are beautiful."

Eames finally turned to face him, holding out a handful of owl treats. "You can call him from here," Eames said again.

Arthur took them automatically, gaping at the man in front of him whose face was a placid lake.

"Eames, I knew you took pictures, I've watched you do it for years. But I didn't know you did all this," Arthur said, gesturing to the room, the sweep of his arm including the shelf of surprisingly organized supplies, two or three bulky objects under sheets which might have been sculptures, and a stack of smaller canvases against the wall.

"Just a hobby," Eames said, brushing it off like it was nothing.

"This is incredible," Arthur said softly. "I'd love to see them sometime." He looked at Eames and did his best to appear open and non-threatening, because Eames looked so jumpy.

Arthur turned to the open window and took a fortifying breath of the brisk air blowing past. When he let loose the three short whistles he and Strix had been working on in the evenings, he stepped back to find Eames handing him a quill and roll of parchment.

"Thanks." He set aside his thoughts to focus on what to write to Kensaku Saito, the Minister of Magic.

He should have known by the weight, but it didn't register until he'd written the first word the perfection of this particular quill. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder as he looked at the quill in his hand and he turned to see Eames's eyes on his. He didn't say anything, just stood next to Arthur offering his support. Arthur felt a rush of gratitude that took him by surprise. Eames was here, for Arthur, without him asking or even expecting, really. And it felt good. Amazing, actually. To know that there was someone here who had his back, understood what he was dealing with, and would absolutely help if needed. He gave Eames a wobbly smile and got one in return.

The breath he blew out ruffled the parchment, but the words came easily after that. Each brush of the self inking quill was like a small caress from Eames, and Arthur knew he was never giving the quill back, if only to be reminded of this moment each time he used it. To feel Eames's support behind each word he wrote.

 _Mr. Saito,_

 _Hogwarts requests your assistance with an urgent matter. Please owl back at your earliest convenience with your availability to meet. You may want to bring a legal advisor with you._

 _Thank you,_

 _Professor Arthur Levine_

 _Acting Headmaster of Hogwarts_

He stood, letting Eames read it over his shoulder.

"That feels weird. I've never written that before," Arthur said, staring at the title below his signature. It was technically true, and had been for a while, but he'd never admitted it, even to himself before. He was always just a placeholder for Dom.

"It could be yours, you know. If you wanted it," Eames said, his voice quiet, no pressure, just stating a fact.

Arthur grimaced before he realized he was doing it and rolled the parchment in a tight spiral.

Strix landed next to him, with a clutch of talons on the sill, his large wings folding deftly into his sides, and he greeted Arthur with a sound halfway between a hoot and a chirp.

"Hey, big guy," Arthur said. He gave Strix a treat and stroked his downy chest feathers with the back of one finger. "Need you to take a message for me. It's for the Minister of Magic."

Strix fluffed up his feathers proudly, and stood, beak raised with a regal air, offering his leg and the metal tube for the message.

"You should wait for a reply, and then bring it straight back," Arthur instructed, fitting the message securely.

Strix gave him a look that told Arthur exactly how he felt about being explained something he already knew, and gave a small nip to remind him who was the expert owl and who was the new owl owner. Arthur chuckled.

"Yeah, alright. You already knew that. Just nervous about this one, it's important."

Strix hooted his understanding, a low and comforting sound that was big in the open room. He accepted one more treat and one last feather stroke from Arthur before taking off.

"I'm glad you two are getting on," Eames mused as Arthur watched the wide wingspan disappear to a speck. Arthur shrugged.

"He's pretty amazing. I don't know why anyone would want anything different." Arthur moved into Eames's space, taking a small handful of his robes, marching ants and all. "He comes over to my place sometimes after I'm done with classes for the day. And I'll let him spend the night if he wants. We talk a lot."

Arthur tugged Eames closer. "I feel like I've known him forever, you know? And yet there's so much I don't know about him."

Eames made a small, non-committal hum.

"I trust him," Arthur continued, smoothing his hand over the robes on Eames's chest, shamelessly feeling up the man underneath. "But I'm not sure he trusts me."

There was a heavy pause as Arthur kept petting him, letting it sink in. "I feel like I could tell him anything and he wouldn't judge me. I hope he knows the opposite is true, too."

"Owls do a lot of confessing around you, do they?" Eames asked, a smirk not quite hiding the raspy wobble in his voice. But he put his hands on Arthur's hips, keeping him close.

"Well, _confessing_ is a strong word. I feel like _sharing information_ _freely_ is more accurate to our relationship." Arthur gave him a half smile. "For example, I would be willing to tell you that I sometimes hate being a teacher. And that I became one because Mal was, and I didn't know what else to do. And that I had a _really_ hard time not looking at more of those memories." He swallowed. "And then you could tell me that you stole one from me. No confession needed."

Eames stiffened and moved away and Arthur dropped his hands, letting him. Eames's face, instead of being angry, which Arthur would have expected, even appreciated, was blank. Arthur kicked himself mentally while at the same time reminded himself over and over and _over_ that this was important and needed to be done eventually.

"Let's get one thing straight, right now," Eames said, his voice even. "I did not steal anything from you. I would _never_ steal anything from you. But those thoughts are not yours. I never thought I'd agree with that weasel on anything, but when Nash said those should belong to the people, my first thought was, "They already do." So don't you dare get all high and mighty and accuse _me_ of stealing from _you._ "

Arthur felt a crackle of indignation run through him.

"Well I think I would remember if I stole them from anyone. I don't even want the damn things! They're a headache and a liability and a pain in my ass!" Arthur shouted, unable to keep his voice from rising.

Eames, for all the walls he'd thrown up between them, shouted back. "If you didn't want the damn things, then why didn't you just get rid of them, huh? Why didn't you destroy them right away? You obviously want to. You could have gotten that note, opened the cupboard, and vanished them into oblivion, or turned them into tea cozies, or a nice hat rack! But you didn't! You didn't because-"

"Because they were hers!"

The words were out before Arthur knew he was going to say them. The truth of the statement rippled between them and Arthur deflated.

"I didn't because they were hers," he repeated. "I couldn't. She died thinking they were the best part of her. And it's not true, and it'll never be true, but I couldn't just let everything she'd worked so hard for, everything she'd traded her husband and her children and her _life_ for, get turned into… into a hat rack."

Arthur's voice broke on the last word, and he blinked, hard. His throat worked, and just when he thought Eames was truly gone, he crossed the space between them and wrapped his arms around Arthur, hugging him fiercely, almost violently. Arthur hugged back, his toes curling into the floor to ground himself, and his nose pressed into the square of soft skin under Eames's ear.

He breathed in, the soft, warm scent of this man, the one who hadn't quite let him in, but who Arthur knew had given him more of himself than he'd given most people for a long, long time. And Arthur took it-great handfuls, without feeling guilty, and wanted more. He would wait, forever if necessary, because Eames was hugging him, consoling him on losing the only person who'd ever loved him, when no one else had even said, "I'm sorry for your loss". Arthur would hold on to that for as long as Eames would let him.

When they finally drew apart, Arthur had himself under control again, but he was relieved to see that the blank slate Eames had drawn over his features from before was gone. In its place were the forehead wrinkles and eye creases he'd grown so fond of, the ones asking if Arthur was okay and wanting him to be. Arthur nodded, and Eames brushed a kiss over his forehead.

He sighed into Arthur's hair, the warm air gusting over his scalp. "I took mine," he admitted, and pulled away to reach into his wide sleeve and withdraw the tiny glass bottle. The slow swirl of blue twinkled merrily, but Arthur would bet those thoughts were anything but. Mal's spidery script, proclaiming it "Eames" was smudged, as if a sweaty thumb dragged across the words could erase it from existence.

"I didn't look at them," Arthur said, keeping his eyes on the bottle. "But I really wanted to."

Eames scoffed. "I think I'd be able to tell if you had."

Arthur didn't know what to say to that, so instead, he reached for the bottle, slowly, and took it from Eames's hand. To Arthur's surprise, Eames let him, and with a renewed sense of purpose, he let his wand slip into his hand and pointed it at the vial. " _Millinus"_ , he muttered, transforming the bottle into a wrought-iron hat stand, even though it didn't match Eames's living room/bedroom decor, because he didn't know a spell for a wooden one. Eames would probably have been able to do it better, but Arthur added extra filigree in the hopes he would like it anyway.

It didn't seem to matter, because Eames wasn't looking at the hat stand. He was looking at Arthur, his face soft, a small smile on his lips.

"Darling," he said, and Arthur blushed, the tips of his ears heating up first. He set the stand carefully on the floor, clearing his throat and opening his mouth to say… something, when Eames kissed him. The small sound Arthur made was swallowed by Eames's mouth and Arthur was melting, dissolving under his hands, his tongue, and he kissed back for all he was worth.

 _I'm sorry for this whole mess,_ he tried to say with each brush of his lips. _I… care about you. I want you to care about me._

Eames seemed happy to oblige, kissing him and kissing him and _kissing_ him, until he thought his head might float away. The world narrowed and Eames's mouth was on his, his hands were clutching at Arthur's back, and Merlin's beard, Arthur was so far gone for this man.

Which was why this might break his heart.

He pulled away from Eames reluctantly. "I think… I think I need you to tell me."

Eames looked resigned and he nodded dully. He took a step back and looked around the room, as if noticing for the first time that he had inadequate seating for anyone other than himself.

"Uh." He gestured towards the front room and Arthur went, sitting on the edge of the four-poster bed that took up half the room. Eames fussed with the fireplace, crouching to light it with his wand in several small bursts, trying to get just the right amount of heat and light. And stalling for time.

"Eames…" Arthur prodded.

"Just. Just give me a minute." Eames said to the flames. "I've never actually told anyone this. And I'm just a bit hesitant to lose you and my job in the next five minutes, so just…" He trailed off and Arthur bit his lip.

"Did you kill someone?" he asked, keeping his tone even, non-judgemental.

Eames turned to look at him. "I don't think so. No, not to my knowledge, not directly anyway."

Arthur nodded. "Use an unforgivable curse?"

Eames looked affronted. "No! Merlin's shorts, what do you take me for?!"

"So what, then?"

Eames rose and sat next to Arthur on the bed. He had his wand in his hand, turning the light wood over and over in his hand, as if he'd forgotten he was holding it. His thumb stroked the round knot at the base absently, worn smooth by wandmaker and years of use.

"I was a thief," Eames admitted. "A good one. I used magic, sometimes, but mostly I just stole everything that wasn't tied down. Bit of forgery too, mostly art."

Arthur was quiet for a moment, and Eames let him process.

"Did you steal from wizards?" he finally asked.

"Wizards, muggles, the occasional animal, you name it," Eames said, his voice tight with anxiety but trying to make light of it. "I had lots of experience."

"Why?" Arthur finally asked.

Eames shrugged, but his fingers tightened on the thin wood in his hand. "Started as a bit of fun with my mates, just a lark at first. See what we could nick from the shops, the thrill of it. Then my dad got laid off, and my mum…" His voice faltered a bit and Arthur curled his hands into fists to keep them from reaching out to Eames. He couldn't have been further away if he were on the moon.

"My mum was having a hard time making ends meet at home," he finally continued. "And my dad wasn't, uh, handling that very well, and I started to bring home what I could to help."

When it was clear he wasn't going to continue, Arthur swallowed. "That was nice of you, to help your folks out like that."

Eames snorted. He _snorted_ , like it was the funniest thing Arthur had ever said. And if he'd seemed distant before, it was nothing compared to how he was now. Stung and confused, Arthur turned towards Eames. "Wasn't it... nice of you?"

Eames's thumb pushed the knot on his wand so hard his nail bed turned white and Arthur was convinced he would snap it in half. "It was the most self-serving thing I've ever done. Or, started doing, I guess. It wasn't like it was a one-time thing. I finally had a way to show them I was worth keeping around, I wasn't going to let that go anytime soon."

He took a deep breath. "So! The things I brought home started getting bigger, more elaborate than what we could eat or even keep around. I mean, where does one hang famous works of art in your two-bedroom rat-hole flat?" He forced out a laugh and shook his head. "I'll never forget the whooping I got the day I brought home a sofa that was probably worth more than our rent for a year. 'Don't you know we already have a sofa, boy? Can't you see it every day, or do your eyes in your mush face not work properly?'"

The cockney accent Eames had affected as he imitated his father took Arthur by surprise. He felt like he'd opened a manhole cover and was forced to face a depth that he'd never previously been aware of and spanned he didn't know how far. He had no idea what to do or say. So he did what he would have wanted, and what he'd been aching to do since they'd sat down. He reached for Eames's hand.

It took a moment for him to let go of the wand, and Arthur wondered if he should back off, but when Eames finally allowed Arthur to take his hand, he intertwined their fingers and held on for dear life. Arthur watched their fingers, Eames's thick, blunt ended ones and his own thinner, paler ones.

"What did he mean by that?" Arthur asked.

Eames's frustrated huff made Arthur look up at him, where he watched Eames's face morph in a constant flux, his nose growing softer, rounder, then flatter and sharper, his cheekbones becoming more prominent, then fading away. His jawline changed, his facial hair darkened, his eyes flashed so many different colors Arthur couldn't keep track. He stared, fascinated, at the way Eames could imitate so many features, but still be so very _Eames_ at the same time.

"Wow," Arthur breathed without thinking, and Eames's eyes flicked to his, settling into his own, familiar form with a blink of surprise.

"Yeah, well, that's not exactly dear old Da's opinion," he said, his mouth twisted wryly. "Metamorphmagi can present their abilities as early as the hour they're born. I was a late bloomer, I guess I can be thankful for that at least. Still, a bit of a shock when your presumably normal two-year old goes to throw a tantrum and their whole body turns red. Or when I wanted something and my eyes would actually get physically larger. Or when I met my aunt for the first time and tried to copy her."

"But Metamorphmagi are so rare… you think they'd have been proud," Arthur said.

Eames gave him a small, sad, heartbreaking smile. "They were Muggles, darling," he said. "They thought there was something wrong with me. They couldn't wait to get rid of me, actually. I made them uncomfortable."

"So what happened?"

"I got my letter, boarded a train, and never looked back. They requested a memory removal spell and it was granted, so I suppose they never looked back either."

"Merlin's...a memory removal...wait, you mean to tell me that you stole sofas and famous works of art before you were _eleven years old_!?"

Eames's cheeky grin was all Eames. "Told you I was good."

Arthur snorted. He couldn't help it. He knew that Eames's foray into thievery didn't stop when he got his letter, he'd admitted as much. But if this was the secret, the one he'd kept so hidden so well, and which didn't pain him as much as the admission that his parents didn't want him because he wasn't a Muggle, well, Arthur could live with that.

"Is that everything?" he asked, because he had a feeling Eames might not tell him otherwise.

Eames hesitated and Arthur was amused. He managed to keep a straight face.

"My name isn't really Charles Eames. I changed it when I got in trouble with the Ministry and I needed to lay low for a while."

"But... is that what you prefer?" Arthur asked, trying to wrap his mind around calling Eames something other than Eames.

"Most definitely," Eames said, and Arthur breathed a little easier.

"And?" he prompted when Eames didn't say anything else.

Eames looked worried. More worried than he had before. "I'm not really a teacher," he finally confessed. "I forged my teaching certificate."

Arthur was smiling. He couldn't help it. "Can I kiss you now?" he asked, but he wasn't really asking. He scooted across the bed, until his thigh were pressed alongside Eames's. He used their joined hands to tug Eames closer.

"Just kissing?" Eames asked, the tease not doing much to cover the relief in his voice or the grateful way he looked at Arthur.

Arthur smiled. "Should I be dreaming a little bigger?"

"Always," Eames murmured to his lips.


	14. Chapter 14

Arthur was brought back to reality by a flash of silver out of the corner of his eye. He vaulted back from Eames, throwing up Occlumency shields and practically swallowing his tongue.

"Mal, what-"

But the massive figure of Dom's Patronus was the only thing in the room and Arthur huffed a small sigh of relief.

"Arthur," came Dom's voice from the bison taking up most of the room, shaking its shaggy head. "What exactly is going on here? You want me to interview someone for my own job? Could you _be_ more condescending?"

Then it circled in the tight space before it ran into the wall and puffed out of existence. Arthur sighed. "Yeah, okay. Maybe that was kind of an asshole move." He stood once more, trying to flatten his hair and straighten his robes. He looked at Eames. "Well, what do you think? Want to meet the new Dom? We should probably have someone British to greet her."

Eames grinned. "Sounds brilliant. Spiffing. Topping. A bit of alright."

"Yeah, yeah. Showoff." But he was smiling, and Arthur didn't know how Eames managed it, but even in the mess that had happened since Mal's death, he found himself smiling more and more.

He was fully prepared to find Dom pacing and squinting when he got there, and for the new teacher, Ariadne, to look uncomfortable and ready to flee. What he was _not_ prepared for, was to find Dom relaxed in his desk chair, looking put-together and confident, smiling at a small woman in a gray Muggle suit.

Ariadne Parker, her hair twisted in a tight updo to hide her youth, looked professional, put together, and still painfully young.

"Hello? I understand you may need my assistance," he asked as he entered, feeling like he was interrupting even though Dom had sent him an SOS.

"Ah, hello," she said, rising from her seat and striding forward to shake his hand. "I'm Ariadne? Miles said you might have some kind of a work placement offer." Her eyes twinkled as she looked at Dom. "Professor Cobb was just telling me about the last staff picnic. This sounds like a really fun place to work."

"Oh," Arthur said, shaking her hand automatically. Staff picnic, right. He would need to organize one of those again, the weather was warming up. And he'd need to send notices to the staff to make sure there was enough coverage-

"Arthur, you could introduce yourself instead of gaping at her," came the annoying British baritone behind him. "Cheers. Professor Eames," Eames said stepping in front of Arthur and taking Ariadne's hand in his. He smiled his toothy grin, the one that made Arthur's stomach fluttery. "Transfiguration. And this is Arthur, Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Ariadne," she said. "I just finished up my student teaching at Ilvermorny and got a call from Miles Cobb." She looked back and forth from Arthur to Eames. " _Is_ there a work placement offer?"

"Not exactly," Arthur started, but before he could continue, there was a loud flap of wings and he had to duck to avoid being hit in the face with a wing ulna. Strix circled the room, searching for a place to land. He looked disgruntled when he finally settled on Dom's desk, as if Arthur should really be more accommodating and how can they expect him to work in these conditions?

"Hey, big guy,"Arthur said, approaching him. "Did he reply?"

Strix gave a happy hoot and held out his leg, and once Arthur removed the furl of paper, clacked his beak and took off, presumably before Arthur could make him fly back to the Ministry. Strix was a big bird, but it was quite a flight, and he'd just made it twice in one day.

 _Professor Levine,_

 _I will be on the next train to Hogwarts and will arrive on Tuesday, I will speak with Mr. Nash in the meantime. Rest assured nothing will be published until then. I am fully versed on all aspects of the law, I will not need legal advice._

 _Thank you,_

 _Kensaku Saito_

 _Minister of Magic_

Eames read it over his shoulder. "Well, that's… scarily competent."

"Yeah," Arthur agreed, letting the paper re-curl in his hand. "I'm not sure whether I should be reassured or more worried."

"Hmm," was all Eames would say.

Arthur tucked the paper into his sleeve and looked up to find both Ariadne and Dom staring at him, Ariadne with curiosity and Dom with annoyance. Arthur cleared his throat.

"Dom, I was hoping to talk to Ms Parker if you could do me a favor? We seem to have one of the ghosts hanging around the Headmaster's tower causing some issues. Can you intervene?"

"Ah," Dom said, standing. "Peeves at it again, is he?"

Arthur exchanged a look with Eames. "No…" he said slowly, raising an eyebrow at Dom.

It took him a few moments, but he looked a bit subdued when he finally caught on. "Oh. Right, I'll… look into that."

"Professor Eames, could you go with him and make sure he's caught up?"

Eames nodded and followed Dom out the door, his ant-print robes billowing behind him. Arthur watched them go, and without turning around, cast a Legilimency spell on Ariadne. He saw a flash of something that looked like schematics or maybe blueprints in her head before she clicked an Occlumency shield neatly in place. He tried once more, a prod at the edges, just to test her ability to hang onto it and when she didn't flinch, he turned to face her.

"Nice," he said, refusing to apologize for the intrusion. "Now your turn."

She looked surprised. "To use Legilimency? I thought this was an Occlumency position."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Occlumency does no good if you don't know what you're protecting yourself from. Your turn."

He pushed his robes aside, put his hands in his pockets and waited. It was a few moments before he felt the tendrils of her Legilimency spell, a tentative attempt, but cleverly cast. He let her poke for a second before slamming the door to his mind shut.

She visibly jumped and he smiled. "Think about it, and try again."

Her lips tightened and she squared herself, brow furrowed, full of concentration.

Arthur dropped his surface shields and waited patiently, watching to see what she'd do. This time she hit him hard and fast, trying to sneak in before he got the Occlumency shields in place all the way. She was powerful, but she was no Mal, and he'd had years of experience.

He nodded encouragingly and she huffed with annoyance. This time she drew her wand, although she kept it pointed at the floor, just using it to focus her energies.

Arthur waited. And waited. And by the time her eyes lit up, triumphant, and he realized the subtle and clever spell she'd woven, false sense of security overlay included, she was neck deep in reliving a flirty conversation he'd had with Eames during his planning period. Luckily it was PG rated, but he shut it down pretty fast.

She beamed at him, and he couldn't help but smile back at her.

"You're a natural," he said. "Good. You'll need it, because this position is to teach both. Now," he summoned a chair over to himself and sat down, "you can do it, but I need to know if you can _teach_ it."

Ariadne sat down also, looking a bit more in her element.

Arthur kicked off the discussion with, "Talk to me about how you control a classroom."

They talked shop for a while, and Arthur found himself relaxing more and more. Ariadne was funny, sharp, not afraid to ask questions, and a kind person.

"Give me an example of a time when you might use magic to discipline a student," Arthur prompted, and while he waited for her answer, her distaste at the question said a lot for her.

"Discipline?" Ariadne asked, her eyebrows drawn together. "Uh… well, I don't…" She looked anxious, like she felt she should have an answer but despaired to actually give one. "I mean, I wouldn't hesitate to use magic to stop a student from doing something dangerous or mean-spirited, but _discipline_ sounds like a step… farther than I would be comfortable with… uh…"

"Good," Arthur cut her off. "That's the correct answer, in case you were wondering," he said when she continued to look nervous.

She breathed a tiny sigh of relief and Arthur felt a twang of commiseration at that. He knew what it felt like to need to get the answer right.

"Last question. Let's say you have a student in your class that is a bit slower to pick up the information. She'll get it, eventually, but is struggling, and not just in your class. What would your suggestion be for helping her?"

Ariadne thought for a moment. "I think I'd probably pair her with another student who knows what they're doing. If that student's never tutored before, I would create a tutoring outline and set up a schedule to get updates from the both of them so I could make sure they both have what they need."

"That's…" Arthur hadn't actually thought of that. He'd been planning on tutoring Ophelia himself, but pairing her with another student would be a huge time saver for him. "That's a really good idea. It'd be nice if there were a pool of tutors to choose from."

"Yeah," Ariadne continued, her brown eyes bright as she thought out loud. "I think a tutoring club would actually be really beneficial for grooming some students to be better tutors. You could have guest speakers give advice on helping their peers, and if it got affluent enough, you could have them include it on their resume when they graduate." She was shooting off the cuff, but Arthur could tell she was only just starting to gather steam. "Especially if you involve the community in the club, maybe invite professors from other schools to-"

"Ariadne," Arthur cut her off. "When can you start?"

Arthur was sitting at breakfast in the Great Hall the next morning, the final morning of break before students came back, enjoying the relative quiet and a sad, thin version of a pan cake that just did not compare to Eames's, when Strix thunked the Daily Prophet on the table and shot off like eagles are chasing him. Arthur furrowed his brow at the retreating bird and unrolled the paper.

 _HOGWARTS BEING RUN BY A GHOST! Malorie Cobb never left! Are our children safe?!_

Arthur gritted his teeth. Technically, this had nothing to do with the extracted thoughts, so he should probably be grateful that Nash complied with the letter of the law. Except that shortly after that, Strix was back, and this time, he had a bundle of letters grasped in his talons.

They landed on the table, knocking over his cup and soaking his robes. Arthur glared at Strix's rapidly retreating form as he spelled the mess away and pulled the bundle toward him. The stack spilled out when he cut the twine tying them together, and he saw letters addressed to "Acting Headmaster" and "Whoever is really running Hogwarts" and "Professor Cobb?". Arthur blinked.

He caught the next bundle that Strix hurled his way and he realized it was going to be a long fucking day.

By the third bundle, Strix had found him in his classroom, opening letters and organizing them by type. So far he had "Nervous Parent", "Concerned Citizen", "Curious Looky Loo" and, finally, "Asshole". He will answer them in that order too.

By the sixth bundle, Strix's flight pattern was a little erratic, fatigue wearing him down.

"How many more of these do you have?!" Arthur demanded, but of course, Strix ignored him.

The answer, it turned out, was four more. Arthur ended up adding "Outraged/Entitled Parent" to his categories, but he penned a generic response for each basic type and started copying them out.

At the beginning, his new quill felt good in his hand, solid. After three hours, it felt heavy, too fat, and burdensome. Arthur glared at the endless stacks of letters spread across his desktop.

He made it through "Nervous Parent" in the first hour, because there were decidedly less of them. He missed them when they were gone. Entitled Parent was next, was still only halfway through when the door to his classroom opened.

"My darling Arthur, there you are! What are you doing in here? I had plans to whisk you away to exotic Hogsmeade to...day…"

Eames trailed off as he drew closer to Arthur's desk and took in the mess in front of him. He picked up a letter from the closest pile, which happened to be Asshole pile, and read it, his eyebrows climbing. He picked up another.

"Tell me Arthur," he said, comparing the two. "Which do you Yanks consider the bigger insult, 'twat' or 'cunt'?"

"Cunt," Arthur said, not looking up from the letter he was writing.

"Ah," he said, settling himself on the opposite side of Arthur's desk. "Well, then I'll start with those."

Arthur froze, looking at Eames, who didn't seem to notice as he settled in, retrieving a quill from his endlessly large sleeves and swiping a blank piece of paper from Arthur's stack. Arthur watched his own handwriting flow effortlessly from Eames's quill and was suddenly overwhelmed by the man in front of him. He reached out, slowly, and took Eames's hand. Eames didn't look up, just held Arthur's hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, and kept writing. After a moment, Arthur did too.

They laid together in Eames's ridiculously large bed, where Arthur wasn't sure at first he'd feel comfortable. It sat in the middle of the room, and Arthur had slept up against the wall for so long he was worried he'd roll off and have to explain why he was on the floor. But when Eames curled behind him and Arthur pressed back into his bulk, it was better than a wall.

Eames ran his fingers down Arthur's arm as they talked. Arthur had made a cooling potion and wrapped their writing hands in it, and it still throbbed, but it was bearable. The shots of firewhiskey helped too.

"When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?" Eames asked him, and Arthur couldn't really answer that. It was… embarrassing.

Eames must have seen something in his face because he leaned forward to get a better look. "Arthur?"

Arthur grunted. "A Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle," he muttered. The silence behind him was loud. "It was a No-Maj TV show-"

"I know," Eames cut him off and Arthur could hear the smile in his voice. "Muggle, remember?" Arthur relaxed a little. "Which one? The nerd one?"

"Hey, fuck you!" Arthur retorted. "I'm obviously held together with man pain and rebellion. I was the red one."

Eames smacked a loud kiss on his cheek and wrapped his arm around Arthur's middle. Arthur grinned into the dim light.

"What about you?" Arthur asked him.

"A Rockette," Eames said, and Arthur had no idea if he was serious or not, but he couldn't stop the laugh that rolled out of him.

When he finally quieted, Eames's nose was pressed into Arthur's hair. "Is today one of the days you don't like being a teacher?" Eames asked, his voice non-judgmental, and Arthur was grateful.

He shrugged one shoulder. "Not necessarily. I like being a teacher, don't get me wrong. I wouldn't still be here if I didn't. And these kids deserve the best. So I try to give them my best."

"But..?" Eames prompted.

"But sometimes, yeah, I want to run." Arthur shifted slightly so he could see Eames's face. "I think all adults feel like that. Don't they?"

It was Eames's turn to shrug. "I spent a lot of years running; it's basically my default setting. Stay in one place until everything goes pear shaped, move on to something else." He lifted his hand to run a finger across Arthur's jaw. "The last five years are the longest I've stayed anywhere for a long time."

"But you want to stay?" Arthur asked, trying to keep the neediness out of his voice.

"Oh, Arthur," Eames breathed at him, his eyes fond. "How could I say no to this face full of man pain and rebellion?" He kissed Arthur then, soft and warm and comfortable.


	15. Chapter 15

The next morning, Arthur stood in the entrance, Eames steady and comforting by his side, and prepared to meet Saito. He hadn't said a single word about the roses blooming on Eames's robes, or the tune Eames was humming that would be stuck in his head all day now, thank you very much. And he had merely scowled when Eames asked if he could bring his camera to meet Saito.

"He's a very handsome man, darling," Eames pointed out. "When else will I get a chance to photograph him in person again?"

Honestly, Arthur thought he was being awfully generous already.

"What are you going to tell him?" Eames asked, and Arthur stopped fidgeting.

He said, "The truth," because what else could he tell him? "And then I'm going to beg."

"Hmm, beg, huh?" Eames waggled his eyebrows.

Arthur gave him a look and primly straightened his robes. "Behave, Mr. Eames."

Eames looked like he wanted to reply to that, but the Great Hall doors creaked open and Saito brushed through them with an air of confidence Arthur could only hope to achieve some day.

"Mr. Saito, welcome."

"Professors," he replied coolly. "I understand you're in need of the Ministry's assistance."

"Right this way." Arthur stepped aside. He led the small party to the Headmaster's Tower, and thanked his lucky stars that Mal was absent the entire trip. One crisis at a time was his prefered intake for the day.

He gave a short reprisal of the events since Mal's death, because he was certain that Nash had filled him in on most of it already. Indeed, Saito seemed surprised by nothing, not even when Arthur opened the cupboard and displayed Mal's stash.

"I let Nash see his own," Arthur explained. "Did you want to see yours?"

"I don't believe mine are in there, but thank you," Saito said, his smile not reaching his eyes.

Arthur's eyebrows furrowed, because it seemed silly to have all these thoughts, but not the Minister of Magic's. Surely Mal would have attempted it. But when he tried to _Accio_ Saito's, nothing happened.

"As I said," Saito remarked, a bit smug. "Rest assured, we have measures in place to prevent"—he waved his hand—"this. I would like to see the process though, if you don't mind."

Arthur and Eames exchanged a look. "I've never… I mean, I didn't see Mal actually do any of these, I only saw the aftermath when she overstretched herself."

Saito hummed, like he wasn't sure he could believe them, but changed the subject anyway. "Very well. Now the matter comes to what to do with these."

"Yes," Arthur said, relief in his voice. Saito seated himself in one of the chairs across from Mal's desk and waited while Arthur took the other one, and Eames transfigured something into a chair and joined them. "I kind of just want to get rid of all of them," Arthur admitted.

"I think that would be a hasty decision," Saito said, and Arthur nodded quickly.

"Right, no, I know," he said, and he hadn't been asking permission, exactly, but he still felt like he'd said he liked cookies and had been told eating sweets was bad for him.

"What if we contact each individual and have them collect their own," Eames suggested.

"Gentlemen, I think we have an opportunity here that we would be missing if we took either of those paths, and I think it would be irresponsible to ignore the possibilities that have been made available to us."

Arthur could feel Eames's stare, but he narrowed his eyes at Saito.

"You're talking about looking at them."

"Indeed. I believe the vials should be turned over to the Ministry, where a panel of Aurors will be put together to investigate potential wrongdoing before the findings are made public."

Arthur and Eames were silent as they contemplated this. Arthur hadn't truly considered the possibility of uncovering criminal behavior. He'd been more focused on these thoughts being potentially embarrassing secrets and what people might do to keep them from getting out.

"Mr. Nash had other thoughts," Saito continued, "as I'm sure you'd assumed."

Arthur _hated_ feeling like he was on the back foot, but despite how much he'd dwelt on this, for the second time in as many minutes Saito had brought up something else he hadn't previously considered. Of course Nash would have an idea what he thought should be done, and of course that idea would be an asshole one.

Saito pulled a sheet of paper from the sleeve of his elegant, gunmetal gray robes. "Mr. Nash feels that the most responsible course of action would be to turn the information over to an established third party collector of information, such as the Daily Prophet, who would be responsible for censoring the information before releasing it to the public at large," he read. He folded the paper again, and it disappeared into his sleeve once more. "I'm inclined to disagree, but as I know that you met with Mr. Nash earlier, I'm willing to concede this point. Now, onto the Mal issue-"

"Concede the point? What does that mean?" Eames asked.

At the same time Arthur demanded, "What Mal issue? What did he tell you?"

"Well, obviously the Board of Governors is responsible for making decisions on the Headmaster, but this has always been, historically, a figurehead type of organization," Saito said, avoiding Eames's question. "I'm sure you can agree that Hogwarts has always chosen its own headmaster, and the board agrees with the decision and everything just goes on its merry way. But surely this Mal development has highlighted to you the need for just such a joint decision."

Arthur couldn't decide if he agreed or not and ended up scowling in response.

"However," Saito continued, "even with a strong ruling decisionmaking body in place, this is unprecedented. There has never been a ghost Headmaster or Headmistress before. Something like this is dangerous, for many reasons." He folded his hands and sat back, leaning into his speech. "Firstly, ghosts do not experience new things the way the living do. And before you bring up Professor Binns," he said, heading off Arthur's protest, "they may be excellent at preserving the past. But I think we can both agree that the Headmaster needs to be a bit more involved with the way things currently are than the way things used to be."

Arthur gave a tiny, stiff nod to show that he was listening, but he refused to agree to anything until he'd heard exactly what Saito was leading up to.

"I believe we need to have a framework for the Board to work from-a clear set of rules that _everyone_ agrees on," he stressed, looking at Eames who had practically come up out of his seat in protest, "that simply outline things that seem to be common sense, but no one has ever clarified before."

"Such as?" Arthur clipped his words, mistrust in every syllable.

"Such as a specific time frame for the board meeting when a new Headmaster or Headmistress needs to be put in place. Such as the board approving deputy Headmasters and Mistresses they way they do the actual headmaster. Such as term limits."

Eames and Arthur both started talking at that, but Saito held up a hand. "I'm not expecting a new headmaster every few years. I'm talking about, for now, one human lifetime. If Mal remains the Headmistress, she could be the Headmistress until Hogwarts crumbles to dust. She will never leave, I'm sure you can agree, and that means that there's no removing her. Ever. Is that really what makes the most sense for Hogwarts long-term?"

Arthur and Eames exchanged a look. He knew it wasn't, but what exactly was Saito suggesting?

Eames spoke first. "So what you're saying is that there would be an undefined set of rules-"

"Undefined as of this moment, but not for-" Saito tried to talk over him, but Eames plowed on.

"-outlined for the Board, to help them determine if the new Headmaster is...what? Qualified, based on their alive-ness?" Eames challenged. "Or are we just giving them a way to be able to tell that they're alive? It seems like that's a lot of work to solve this one maybe-issue, when we don't know if it's ever going to come up again?"

Saito directed his answer at Arthur. "I assume you're the one that gets to explain to Mal that she's no longer going to be Headmaster once the board actually meets and names Dom. Or were you actually planning on not having the board meet at all and just having Mal remain the Headmistress for eternity?"

"Uh…"

"Wouldn't it be nice," Saito continued, "to have a document to point to and say, "Mal, I'm sorry, but you can't be the Headmaster anymore, the Board of Governors has laws they have to follow and it says right here that ghosts can't be Headmaster. So it's out of my hands, and you'll have to step down."

"Wait, they're _laws_ now?" Eames exploded. "Are you actually just going to create new laws whenever something happens that you don't like so that you can control it however you want?"

"That is what laws are for, Mr Eames. To help us control the things that happen in our universe. And we initiate them when the situation arises that needs to be controlled. I'll be sure to have someone explain to you how and why laws are made. Would that be helpful?"

Eames's nostrils flared and he drew in a breath but Arthur stopped his tirade before he could start.

"No."

Saito and Eames turned to look at him.

"No, what, Arthur?" Saito asked.

"Just no. To everything." There was a beat of silence and Arthur drew back moving to stand. "We won't be allowing the Ministry to make laws governing any portion of Hogwarts internal structure. We already tried that, remember? Perhaps Professor Binns can explain it to you. Would that be helpful?"

"Professor Levine," Saito started, but Arthur cut him off.

"I will deal with Mal. You don't need to worry about that. I've known Mal a long time, and there's no point pretending she won't be heavily involved even if Dom is named Headmaster."

"When," Saito said levelly. "When Dom is named Headmaster."

"We'll let the Board decide. You keep trying to make it sound like they're broken and need to be fixed, but this is exactly why there is a sitting board, filled with intelligent people, who discuss things, especially unprecedented things, when they arise. Hogwarts will trust in those individuals, who have _Hogwart's_ best interests at heart," Arthur stressed, "and we'll abide by their decision."

"And if the Board feels they're inadequately prepared to handle something like this?"

Arthur glared, the magic crackling in his limbs burning to be fired at the calm man in front of him. "Have you already spoken with the Board, Mr. Saito? Because you can't do that. What have you been telling them?"

"I think you'll find, Professor, that I can do exactly whatever it is I want to."

"Spoken like a true servant of the people," Eames said wryly.

Saito gave Eames a look and stacked his papers. "Gentlemen, I have a very full schedule, as I'm sure you do, so I will be in touch. Feel free to owl my secretary with the time you'd like to meet the Board to discuss the inclusion of this new framework."

"Yeah, I think the Board will have something to say about your so-called framework," Arthur sneered.

Saito just smiled coldly and left, Arthur and Eames trailing behind him until he left the building. When the great oak door finally thunked shut behind him, Arthur's hands curled into fists.

"That ass, who the fuck does he think-"

"Professor," Eames said, hand on his shoulder, and Arthur stopped talking immediately.

"Ophelia!" Arthur greeted the hesitant girl who spotted them in the hallway. "I'd forgotten you were here over the break. How are you?"

"F… fine, Professor? It's kind of a long trip home, so I don't go back for the short breaks."

"Right," Arthur said, because he knew that, he did, she was from the US, and she was here because… oh, shit. He'd forgotten. Arthur wanted to rip his hands through his hair. Too much, he had too much.

"Well, I'm glad you're here because I had just pulled Professor Eames aside to have a meeting with him about Quidditch-"

"You did?!" Eames asked, sounding delighted.

"-but since you're here, perhaps you wouldn't mind explaining the situation to him yourself?"

She looked between them. "Alright," she said shyly.

Eames gave her an encouraging smile, leading her down the hallway to discuss and shooting a raised eyebrow back at Arthur as they left.

Arthur shrugged apologetically and when they'd rounded the corner, he sighed and headed for the Cobb residence.

"Miles took them to play outside, why?" Cobb asked when Arthur barrelled into the familiar living room demanding to know where the kids were and casting a soundproofing spell.

"It's the Ministry," Arthur told him.

"What about them?" Cobb frowned, crossing his arms while Arthur paced.

"They're interfering at Hogwarts. Or, they're trying to." Arthur explained about his meeting with Saito, trying to keep himself calm and give Dom just the facts.

"He's overstepping his bounds," Arthur fumed, losing the internal battle to keep himself under control. "And when Eames pointed out that you can't just make new laws every time-"

"Wait, Eames was there? You mean you had a meeting about the future of Hogwarts, and instead of including me, the actual Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts, you invited Eames?!"

Arthur glared at his friend-in-law, who was still obviously in mourning and who was also technically his boss. "Dom, you have not been in any shape to actually perform the duties that this position required for a while now. How was I supposed to know that today was the day you woke up and decided to give a shit?"

"I give a shit, Arthur, I have always given a shit about this place, and fuck you if you think I haven't. It's just I give more of a shit about Mal, thank you very much, and I think I'm entitled to that!"

Arthur was still glaring, but he ignored Dom's implication that he didn't care about Mal, or that he wasn't entitled to, no matter how much it hurt. "I want you to think very carefully about the words that just came out of your mouth, and I want you to add it to the situation we find ourselves in. Saito doesn't even know how completely insane Mal is acting right now. All he knows is that she's here and she still wants to be in charge. And he's got a problem with that, and I don't know that he's wrong! Because you clearly don't have this under control."

Dom glared right back, but instead of yelling, screaming, beating his chest like Arthur assumed he would, Dom got very, very quiet. Then, he spun on his heel.

"Dom?" Arthur asked, alarmed. He watched Dom stalk through the residence, toward the master bedroom. "Where are you going?"

There was no answer, but seconds later, Dom stormed past Arthur clutching a wand Arthur knew very well. A wand that was supposed to have been buried with its owner.

"Dom!?" Arthur called as Dom disabled the spells around their front door with an angry wave and Arthur followed him, unease rising with every step.

Dom stomped his way to the Headmaster's Tower, giving the password after waiting for the gargoyle to give the full question. His voice was heavy with determination, the phrase spoken like an incantation. "Because we'll be together."

"Dom!" Arthur raced after him, but Dom was in a different state of existence. As far as he was concerned, Arthur wasn't there.

Dom opened the cupboard and retrieved an empty glass bottle, holding Mal's wand in one hand and the bottle in another. He stood in the center of the circular room, his stance wide, and Arthur realized that while he'd never seen this particular part of the process, Dom must have seen it dozens of times. Maybe more. In fact, he might have been as involved with the plan of extracting the ideas as Mal was.

Dom started muttering under his breath, his eyes slipping closed as he concentrated. Arthur watched from the sidelines, fretting and pacing. He wasn't sure if he should stop Dom or not, and he wasn't sure exactly what he was doing, only that Dom seemed to be getting more and more tense.

Arthur watched, concern mounting, as Dom's face narrowed in concentration, beads of sweat popping on his brow. His jaw clenched, his hands fisted at his sides, he almost looked like he was in pain-

"Aaahh!" Dom screamed, collapsing to the floor.

"Dom!" Arthur yelled, rushing to his side. But he couldn't reach him, couldn't help, because Dom was thrashing so hard, convulsions racking his body as he spasmed on the floor, and oh, Merlin, was he dying?

Dom's eyes rolled back in his head, the whites showing as he foamed at the mouth, spittle flying from the corners. Arthur removed his robes, balling them up to place under Dom's head so he wouldn't smash his skull into the stones.

Arthur became aware of the stream of words flying out of his mouth, a flow of French that he realized Dom wouldn't understand, and he had to stop himself and switch into English.

"Hey, it's okay, calm down. Shhhh, stop, stop. Come on back, now, you'll be alright. Come back to me. It's me, Arthur. Come back to me now. I'm here. I'm here. Always here for you."

Arthur gritted his teeth as Dom drew in a breath through a clenched jaw, his yells changing to sobs. Tears rolled down his cheeks as his body started to slow, the spasms changing to small jerks, which slowed even more, until finally, they stopped.

"Dom?"

There was no answer, just Dom's harsh breathing and ragged sobs, his teeth still clenched. Arthur moved closer, fingers flying over his face, not sure exactly what he was looking for.

"Dom? Are you alright?"

Arthur grabbed his wand from where he'd dropped it as he followed Dom to the floor. He needed to produce a Patronus, to send it to wherever Eames was in the building because he could do this, he _could_ , but he needed a hand. And he needed to make sure the new teacher, Ariadne, didn't find out about this. And he needed… fuck it, he just needed Eames.

It took him three times to produce even the faintest whiff of silver let alone a full Patronus, and Arthur realized his go-to Patronus memory of he and Mal on the steps of Ilvermorny, tossing their graduation caps to the sky made him want to punch something. His optimistic vision of the world laid out in front of him, ripe for the taking, made him want to draw blood. He tried once again, to force it to work from sheer willpower, but his wand only fizzled and died.

Hanging his head, Arthur listened to Dom's broken sobs, his muscles still locked tight, and tried to remember the last time he felt happy. Every memory of Mal was tainted, and he worried it would be difficult to find one strong enough, a sorry, random sifting of memories of James and Phillipa, or Christmas cards from former students with vague, fuzzy feelings attached. But it wasn't. It was a sudden, overwhelming rush of warmth when he thought of Eames in his classroom, his bed, his life. He thought of the notes written in his own handwriting, breakfast eaten with their knees pressed against each other. He remembered Eames's nose nestled into the hair behind Arthur's ear, his wide palms cherishing him, his crooked smile gracing him with its sunshine. He thought of Eames standing beside him, his hand on Arthur's shoulder while he wrote to the Ministry for help, then staying by his side during the meeting where they absolutely didn't.

He thought of Eames trusting him with his secrets, asking nothing in return and then being grateful when Arthur kissed him.

And this time when Arthur tried, he'd barely spoken the charm before a Great Grey Owl leapt from the end of his wand. Only now, if you looked very closely, there was a small tube tied to one of his legs.

Arthur tried to breathe as Dom stayed taut. His sobs dissolved into a disturbing whining noise that got on his nerves, and Arthur hated himself sometimes for being such an asshole.

"Come on, Dom, calm down, man," Arthur coaxed, rubbing his arms as he talked. "Shhhh, it's alright. We just gotta get through this. Shhhh."

He could hear the slide of stone on stone as the gargoyle gave way at the base of the stairs, and the trample of feet on the steps, but it wasn't Eames's broad shoulders that entered the office. It was the small, narrow frame of their newly hired Occlumency/Legilimency teacher.

"Ariadne? What are you doing here?" Arthur asked over the sound of Dom, tensing even more and thrashing again. Arthur pressed Dom's shoulders to the floor, his panic taking over his good sense.

"I saw your owl," Ariadne said, rushing to Arthur's side and pulling out her wand. She levelled it at Dom, her lips thinning as she concentrated. Almost immediately Arthur could feel Dom start to relax. He stopped thrashing, and Arthur watching his body uncurl from the tight fist he'd wrapped himself into.

The flash of silver floating through the floor barely caught his attention.

"Arthur," Mal insisted, "I need to speak with you."

"Not now, Mal."

Arthur switched back and forth from watching Dom to watching Ariadne, the furrow on her brow deepening as Dom's relaxed. Then, with a sigh, Dom fell back into Arthur's grasp, limp and sweating but his eyes were fluttering open.

"Dom! Are you alright?" he asked, moving back so Dom could rest his head on the ground.

"Yeah, I'm…" Dom tried, but Mal's figure swooped toward them, hovering over Ariadne.

"Who are you?" Mal demanded.

Ariadne stood abruptly and moved to the side of the room. She busied herself tucking her wand away, a frown taking over her petite features.

"What are you doing here?" Mal held her ground, and Ariadne wasn't making eye contact with the ghost.

Dom tried to sit up, and Arthur helped him, until he got to his feet. His legs shook a bit, but he steadied and turned to Ariadne.

"Ari, this is my… this _was_ my… This is Mal," he said, gesturing weakly toward the silvery shade who was glaring at Ariadne with disdain.

"Dom," Mal said, switching on the endless charm she was capable of. "What is all this? Are you having people spy on us? Hmm?" She floated nearer to him. "Are you having creeping doubts? Feeling persecuted, Dom?" At this, she sidled up next to him, her transparent lips close to his ear. "Admit it: you don't believe in one reality anymore. So choose. Choose to be here. Choose me."

Dom's face was tortured. He was being pulled in multiple directions, and Arthur could see the last few days etched into the new lines on his face. Mal had been gnawing at him this whole time. She hadn't let up. He was drowning in her, and if Arthur guessed correctly, he was close to going under for the last time.

Before he could move, however, Ariadne marched past the looming form of Mal and grabbed Dom's hand. She hauled him to the side of the room, dropping his hand and folding her arms.

"Care to explain?" she hissed.

"Ari," Dom started, his hands up in a placating manner. "That was a pretty slick Legilimency move back there, but I do know what I'm doing. I can tell you're a natural, and that's great. But I've got this under control."

Arthur rolled his eyes, and in doing so, almost missed Ariadne doing the same thing.

"I've seen inside your head, remember?" Ariadne's gaze flicked to Mal, the first time she'd looked at her since she'd stood up. Mal was floating cold and steady next to Arthur, and Ariadne leaned a bit closer to Dom to whisper, "I know you don't want her gone, and I understand that, but you-"

"Do you?" Dom cut her off, and Arthur hadn't heard that tone from him in a long time. "Really?"

But Ariadne wasn't deterred. "Not the way you do," she admitted with a glare, "but don't you know how ghosts work? They only show up where they think they're supposed to be. You," she pointed a finger in Dom's chest, "and your constant need for her, talking to her all the time, are keeping her here! Don't you see? You have to let her go. For your sake, for ours, for the students… it's not safe."

Dom squinted at her, his own arms crossed now. "I refuse to believe that one grieving husband could cause a ghost to come back. There would be ghosts everywhere."

It gave Ariadne pause for a moment, then she shook her head. "Dom, you're a very powerful wizard and-"

"And I helped," Arthur cut in. All eyes were on him, and he shrugged. "I had a hard time letting go too. I talked to her all the time."

"Are you now?"

Arthur shifted in the face of Dom's inquiry, suddenly torn between feeling guilty for having let Mal go so easily, and relieved that he was finally able to.

"Not anymore," he finally admitted.

"So, still just me, huh?" Dom confronted Ariadne, but Arthur shook his head.

"No. The kids."

Dom froze.

"James and Phillipa. I told them that I talk to her sometimes and it helps me not feel so sad." He watched the war on Dom's face. "Ariadne's right, you guys _are_ powerful, it stands to reason they would be too. And they can't control it."

There was silence so thick it hurt to breathe.

"What do I do?" came Dom's small voice. "How can I let her go? How can I possibly do that?"

He sounded broken, defeated, and in that instant, Arthur forgave him everything. Every damn thing he'd been holding in his heart against this man, for all the years he'd known him, every sideways glance and muted judgemental thought were gone in a flash. Because Arthur knew that sound. His entire being had sounded like that for far too long, and he _knew_ the hell that Dom was facing. He knew it better than anyone, and Merlin's beard, he and Dom were on the same team.

"That's not really her, Dom," Arthur pointed out, his voice gentle. "She's not really like that. She's… more." He looked at the ghost of Mal, unaffected by their words and staring them both down. "She's more perfect and more imperfect than the shade that's been floating around here. That's a projection of the Mal we knew. It will never be as good."

Dom's face crumpled. "I know," he whispered. "I know that." He looked at Mal, and Arthur's heart broke for him. "I miss her more than I could bear, but we had our time together," Dom said. "I have to let her go. I have to let her go."

"You can start by telling her that," Ariadne said and she laid a hand on Dom's arm. "We'll all be here for you."

Arthur straightened his back and nodded. "We can talk to the kids together."

Dom sighed. "Alright."

Then he took Mal's wand in a shaky hand, touched it to his temple and withdrew a long, bluish strand. He caught it in the bottle, which was unbroken despite his previous thrashing, and they watched as his sloppy scrawl added a name to Mal's collection: Saito.


	16. Chapter 16

Students were set to arrive the next day, but the slow trickle of children from the train didn't really surprise Arthur as much as it made his heart ache. He pressed his hand to the front door, as if he could imprint his apology on the old girl. It wasn't Hogwarts' fault things had gone to shit; she deserved better. He gritted his teeth and vowed he would make this right.

It also wasn't unexpected when Saito's huge Blakiston's fish owl swooped into the Great Hall as Arthur sat down to breakfast. Her amber eyes glared balefully at Arthur when he retrieved the message, and she refused the owl treat he pulled from his pocket. If owls could sneer, Arthur was sure she would have. The owl took off in a huff and Arthur rolled his eyes. Saito might as well have sent a Howler.

 _There will be a special convening of the Board of Governors scheduled for this afternoon. You are cordially invited to observe the proceedings. It will be held in the High Court chamber at 1:30._

 _Regardfully,_

 _K. Saito, Minister of Magic_

Arthur checked his watch. Saito probably thought he wouldn't make it in time. He took a final bite of his breakfast, wishing once again for Eames's cooking instead, and hurried to his feet. Just as he stood, though, Strix flew into the Hall. Arthur waited as Strix dropped the Prophet on the table and hightailed it back to the Owlry before Arthur could ask him to deliver anything else. Arthur didn't blame him. He'd been run ragged the last few days.

Arthur would be at that meeting if it-

BOARD OF GOVERNORS TO MEET TODAY TO DETERMINE NEXT HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS!

The headline of the Prophet screamed the information he'd received seconds ago, information that wasn't necessarily something the public was invited to. He scanned the article, full of Nash's predictable passive-agressive assholeishness and providing the public the time and place they could also observe the meeting.

A small niggle of panic wormed its way into Arthur's heart. Shit. Shit. Saito could bring up anything in this meeting, and he was changing what was typically a closed door meeting into something that now set a precedent that the public was now included in the inner workings of Hogwarts. What was Saito planning? And Arthur figured that the Legilimacy Dom had attempted would piss him off, but when, exactly, had he set up this thing with Nash?

Arthur hurried out of the Hall to collect Eames and change his robes. He would need every piece of armor he had today. Vampires couldn't have kept him from this meeting. He would face Saito on his own ground, and he would fucking win.

"Eames!" Arthur shouted, banging on the door to his rooms. "Come on, Eames, open up. Saito called a surprise meeting at the-"

He broke off as the door swung open and Eames stared blearily out at him. His hair was mushed up in the back, he was wearing yesterday's robes, and he looked like hell.

"Are you alright?" Arthur asked as Eames stepped back, allowing him to enter.

Eames grunted, moving through his art room and into the bathroom. Arthur followed, because he wasn't sure what else to do, which is how he wound up standing beside the canvas Eames had left uncovered, staring at a painting of himself. At least, it looked like him, with his slicked back hair and embarrassing ears, a scowl on his face. In place of his familiar robes, a Muggle suit encased him like a lovers hands, tailoring and clean lines proving that Eames _did_ know a thing or two about clothes.

The Arthur in the painting looked like he was climbing through a hallway that had been tipped on its side. He was facing down an anonymous adversary, calm, cool and lethal, like he had complete control even though his very world was spinning out of control.

He was pretty sure he had never looked like that in his life, but Merlin's beard, he would give his wand arm to be that person. That was a person who could do whatever he wanted, have whatever he wanted, be whomever he wanted. That was a person worthy of Eames.

Arthur swallowed, the dry click of his throat loud in the silence. He realized Eames was standing behind him, old robes removed, and he wiped his hands with a paint-spattered towel. Eames in an undershirt and trousers, with his tattoos on display, was beautiful, terrifying, and real. Arthur felt like there was an ocean between them.

Still, Eames looked uncertain as he asked, "Do you like it?"

Arthur blinked. "Do I _like_ it?" He turned back to the easel, looking at it again. He took in the limited color palette, the clean, almost mathematical lines of the hallway, and the ridiculous fondness he felt when he saw the detail that went into his scowl. He could picture Eames morphing his face into Arthur's, glaring into a mirror to get it right. He couldn't imagine how long it had taken, the time Eames had dedicated to it.

He turned back to Eames, who had tossed the towel in a pile and was waiting for Arthur's judgement.

"I love it."

Eames's face was beautiful, always, but the swirl of emotions, from surprised, to pleased, to bashful, and back to controlled, was the most gorgeous thing Arthur had ever seen. He shrugged, like it didn't matter when it so clearly did, and said, "I was a bit inspired by you. Your conversation with Nash, particularly." He raised an eyebrow at Arthur, almost a challenge, and Arthur thought back to it.

"You mean, when I barely managed to keep from strangling him, or jinxing the hell out of him, or turning his eyeballs into, I don't know, toad jelly or something?"

"Toad jelly?" Eames asked with a chuckle. "Is that a thing?"

Arthur used his best confused face. "Yeah, of course it is. We had some the other day, when I made you supper. I just stirred it in until it de-coagulated."

Eames paled a bit, his grin thinning.

"I'm kidding, Eames. It's not a thing."

He turned back to the painting once more, unable to look away. "But I was just pissed off. This…" He looked back at Eames helplessly. "This is beautiful."

Eames closed the distance between them, his wide hands on Arthur's waist, and Arthur pulled him in for a kiss, He wrapped his fingers in Eames's hair, still damp from where he'd flattened it back down, and kissed him, his eyes squeezed shut, holding him there so he could tell him with his lips.

"You're beautiful," Eames grunted against his lips, his arms wrapping around Arthur's body.

Arthur felt safe, surrounded, whole. He felt _whole_.

He blinked and pulled back, staring at Eames in wonder. He'd known he wanted Eames, and once he'd had him, he knew he didn't want to give him up. But he hadn't known…

"You make me whole," Arthur said, his voice shaky with the confession. Eames's eyes widened at his words.

"Arthur," he whispered, and Arthur kissed him. He had to kiss him, because if he didn't, Eames would say something and it would be awful, or wonderful, or everything, and he just couldn't handle any of those right now.

"We have to go," Arthur said in between sips of Eames's mouth. "We have a meeting," he tried again as Eames's hands roamed lower.

"You don't get to just say things like that and then not let me show you," Eames said, moving to kiss under Arthur's jaw.

"Show me?" Arthur asked, dazed and fuzzy as Eames kissed him, groped him, worked him out of his robes.

"How you make me feel," Eames said, peeling off Arthur's robes and starting in on his tie.

Arthur put his hands on Eames's, stopping him, and Eames met his eyes. "How do I make you feel?"

"Crazy," Eames said, blowing out a breath. "Amazing. Scared." He grasped Arthur's hands in his. "Like I'm standing at the edge of a cliff and leaning out."

"I do that?" Arthur asked with wonder, because this was _Eames_ , who didn't get rattled, who was confident in everything, always. A master thief by the age of eleven, a con, an uncertified teacher who was unfairly good at it, a flirt, a friend. He was so many, many things, and Arthur was just… Arthur.

He turned to look at the painting Eames had created. "I want that," he admitted, nodding towards it. "I want to be that."

Eames looked at it too, then back to Arthur, confusion on his face. "Darling," he said, "you _are_ that."

Arthur met his eyes, suddenly calm in the knowledge that Eames truly believed that. And if Eames believed that… he felt a corner of his lip curl. "Okay. Then let me show you."

They made it to the meeting, barely, and as they stood outside the door to the High Court chamber, catching their breath, Arthur looked at Eames, his robes spelled to look like a river, his hair slicked away from his face, color high in his cheeks, and he wanted to laugh. He wanted this too, this rush to the finish line, this thrill of the chase. How had he found all of these things at once?

The door in front of them burst open, and both Arthur and Eames jumped in surprise as Saito exited.

"Gentlemen," he started, and Arthur immediately felt like he was being reprimanded. He opened his mouth to defend them, they still had two minutes by his watch, but Saito silenced him with a look.

"I'm pleased you're here. I have a few things to discuss with you, privately, before we get started."

"Uh," Arthur fumbled, knowing what he was going to say. "Well, they're going start in a minute, and we should probably be in there when-"

"They'll wait for us," Saito said, cutting him off smoothly and drawing his wand. He cast a soundproofing charm like it was second nature, and in his position, maybe it was. "I felt your attempt at Legilimency," he announced without preamble.

Arthur's heart stopped, because it was, strictly speaking, illegal to attempt Legilimency on the Minister of Magic. They could be arrested. Or worse.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Eames said, oozing confidence and smarm, which was impressive. He was giving Saito the impression that he knew exactly he was talking about, but wasn't about to admit anything, which was pretty damn funny actually since Eames actually didn't have any idea what Saito was talking about.

Saito smirked. "You could call it an interview."

"An interview?" Arthur asked. "For what?"

Saito shrugged one shoulder. "Doesn't matter. You failed."

It was Eames's turn to smirk. "Did we, now?"

And it was even funnier, because Eames had _no_ ground in this game, he had zero cards to play, and he was bluffing like a madman. But, little did he know, he was right. He hadn't been there to see it, but Dom _had_ pulled something out of Saito's head last night. Through layers worth of protection, and apparently without his knowledge, Dom had extracted information from the wizard with the most political power in the known world. And before he knew it, Arthur was smirking too.

Saito gave them each a calculating look.

"What exactly do you want from us, Mr. Saito?" Arthur cut in.

All of a sudden, not entirely sure how it had happened, Arthur had the upper hand in this little tete a tete. It was an amazing feeling, and he thought he might never let it go.

"I want to offer you a position at the Ministry," Saito finally said.

"We've got jobs, ta," Eames said countered, crossing his arms, but Arthur… hesitated.

He had been at Hogwarts for years. He liked his job, but not for the first time, he wondered why. He liked planning, he liked a challenge, and he liked to be kept on his toes. Arthur looked at Saito, a well-known, yet unfamiliar face, handing him something new. Something no one else could do. Arthur was intrigued.

"What kind of position?"

Both Saito and Eames looked at him, and Arthur looked back, daring him to answer.

"Working with the public," Saito said, "in a purely non-front-facing capacity, of course."

"Of course," Eames said, rolling his eyes, but Arthur kept looking at Saito.

"Doing what, exactly?"

Saito smiled, a small, hungry smile, the kind a wolf gives to the sheep before it swallows it whole. "I'd like you to use the skills you seem to have developed to plant ideas in people's minds, rather than pull them out."

Eames gave a small snort and looked away, but Arthur's mind whirled.

"Actually, it was Dom that developed the skills," he said slowly, thinking, "and as far as I know, it's impossible to plant ideas in people's heads, but..."

"It's perfectly possible," Eames cut in. "It's just bloody difficult."

Saito looked between them. "Sounds like he'll need a team, then. I can make his prior...hm, record, shall we say, with the Ministry go away."

"You can do that?" Arthur asked, and Eames gave him one quick glare before facing Saito once more.

Saito nodded, a seemingly benevolent smile on his face. He stepped back, dropping his charm and swinging his arm wide, inviting them to the court proceedings. "You think about it. Shall we?"

Arthur's mind churned with the offer. Would Dom want it? Did Arthur want him to want it? What did Eames think of all this? He snuck a look at the other man, but Eames's face was a mask as they entered the doors of the chamber.

The buzz of excited voices quieted as they entered, and Arthur blinked at the crowd gathered there. He'd been expecting the board, Saito, and himself, and he'd dragged Eames with him for his own selfish reasons. But the room was full to bursting and everyone was staring at them. Arthur felt his ears heat up, then his face, and he wanted to run for the door.

"Breathe, darling," Eames said from behind him, then brushed past, full of confidence and an air of superiority that settled around him like he was born to it.

Saito stood in the middle of the dais and addressed the crowd. "Thank you all for coming today." His voice rang out in the sudden hush. "Normally the public is not included in these proceedings, but we wanted to give everyone an opportunity to experience some of the clear, open, and honest communication policies we're adopting here at the Ministry, and we're hoping we can encourage others to follow our example. Now," he said, seating himself nobly in front of the panel of wizards, "shall we begin?"

The chairman of the board, an older wizard Arthur had never seen before, frowned at Saito and cleared his throat. "Hmm, yes," he agreed, "it is most unprecedented that we have such a large gathering, so please keep in mind the expectations for speaking, that the floor must recognize you, etc, and that the public is not able to coax, demand, cajole, or otherwise try to influence the decisionmaking process of these individuals." He swept a hand toward the other eleven wizards, who sat up a bit straighter to showcase their massive decisionmaking capabilities.

"With that, I'll call this meeting to order. We have several orders of business to discuss," the chairman said, tapping the bundle of papers on the desk in front of him. "First up is the headmaster position at Hogwarts. We need to discuss Malorie Cobb and Dominic Cobb, as well as address the concerns that Minister Saito has brought to these proceedings. The floor recognizes Minister Saito."

Saito, who had already risen to his feet, inclined his head. He looked across the panel of wizards in front of him, but raised his voice so the crowd could hear him also.

"Well, I won't pretend we haven't all heard the rumors," he paused to allow the murmur to roll through, then continued. "But just so that we're on the same page, I've invited Professors Levine and Eames to join us and confirm some of the things that we may have heard. For example, can you confirm that Hogwarts' previous Headmistress, Malorie Cobb, has returned as a ghost?"

The expectant silence was pressing in on Arthur and all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears.

"Y… Yes," Arthur finally gritted out after wetting his lips.

Another murmur ran through the crowd and the chairman looked annoyed. Saito allowed it for a second before holding up his hand.

"And does her ghost believe she is _still_ Headmistress?"

Arthur's pause was longer this time. "She thinks she is."

The ripple of talk through the public was even louder this time, and Arthur glanced behind him and the assembled crowd. To his surprise, he actually recognized most of the faces in the mix. There was one of the other professors, the Herbology teacher, who'd been at the school since time out of mind. And there were several of his former students, sitting alongside a few of his current students and their families. He tried to gauge their reactions, but they only appeared interested.

"And are we to assume, based on your response, that you do not believe her to be the Headmistress?"

Saito's pointed question hung in the air between them, and whatever perceived camaraderie they'd built up the the hallway was gone. He had, in his view, backed Arthur into a corner to where the only possible outcome was going to get him everything he wanted. He probably negotiated a hundred deals like this a week. This was the face of a man to whom this was not personal. He was going to get Dom, and by extension, Arthur, to agree to his Ministry position, and he was going to get his way about putting his laws in place at Hogwarts.

That last one was the part that Arthur couldn't bear. He could admit to himself that Saito's proposition sounded… interesting. It was attractive, the idea of performing magic no one had ever heard of. It sounded dangerous. And sexy. But Hogwarts was sacred. Hogwarts should remain untouched by the Ministry's reach, and if Arthur had anything to do with it, it would.

He realized how long he'd been scowling at Saito when Eames cleared his throat and leaned forward in his seat. "He didn't say that. Hogwarts will, of course, abide by the decision that the Board of Governors makes, although we're glad to be here so we can make sure you're making that decision with all the information available." He grinned his toothy Eames grin and the Board appeared to relax a notch. Saito did not.

"Well, in that case you won't mind answering a few questions. Such as, how long she has been acting in this capacity and what changes she's made."

"I second Minister Saito's motion," announced a snivelly faced younger man on the board. He looked sloppily at Saito and Arthur struggled not to roll his eyes.

"We don't mind at all," Eames smiled. "She appeared shortly after her death and she has not made any changes. Professor Levine has been acting as Deputy Headmaster, as Professor Cobb, that is to say, Professor Dominic Cobb, was incapacitated and not in possession of his wand."

"Professor Levine, would you care to elaborate? For the sake of the Board?" Saito prompted, and Eames smiled again.

"Certainly, we'd both be happy to answer any questions you have." And he was off. Arthur watched him work, impressed with this smooth answer for everything from Mal, to Dom, to the past procedures for recognition of Headmasters. Saito appeared to grow tense as his questions constantly produced a vague but accurate answer. Occasionally Eames would look to Arthur for confirmation, and Arthur would "yes" or "no" in agreement and it was like Eames had prepared for this, the charismatic bastard. And Arthur would have prepared too, if he'd known this was going to be the Spanish Inquisition.

"I believe we have enough information on that particular point of order, thank you Minister Saito," the chairman announced abruptly. "I move that we go on to other business. Minister Saito, you have proposed a document titled, 'Framework for Hogwarts Regulations', which I've submitted to all the chair members and they assured me they've read. However, for the sake of our audience today, as well as the Professors, would you care to summarize your proposal?"

Saito had probably assumed it would get pushed through because he wanted it that way, and that would be the end of it. Although he clearly did not want to summarize his proposal for the sake of the audience, he stood again.

"At this time, the framework proposed would lay the groundwork for dealing with unprecedented proceedings within Hogwarts itself. This would make things easier for the Board, and make Hogwarts run more smoothly, including things like time-savers, common sense procedures, and the like."

There was a silence following this odd pronouncement, until Eames stood and the chairman acknowledged him.

"Thank you, Chairman. I'm not exactly sure what the so-called framework is suggesting, because I was not granted a copy of the document you received. But I can guess. I would assume one of the proposed changes is requiring a Ministry member on the Board of Governors, is that correct?"

The Chairman, who clearly didn't relish the idea any more than Eames did, struggled to keep a straight face. "That is correct, Professor."

The crowd behind them, which had previously been fairly quiet, began to show signs of dissent. There were mutterings that didn't quiet when the Chairman bagged his gavel, and displeasure showed on faces Arthur didn't recognize. The faces he did recognize looked downright disgusted.

"And might I also assume," Eames said, raising his voice to be heard, "that there is also some kind of term limit proposed for a Hogwarts Headmaster?"

Behind him, the crowd grew more agitated as it waited to hear the answer.

"That is also correct, Professor."

The crowd exploded behind him, angry shouts ringing out in the room, some people getting to their feet.

"... never, in all Hogwarts history…."

"... none of their business! Why I..."

"... keep their grubby hands off…"

"... why should they get to…"

The gavel bangs did little to quiet the dissent, and Arthur hid a small smile behind his hand. Finally, Saito rose to his feet.

"The floor recognizes Minister Saito."

"While that is a very _limited_ version of the proposals in the document," Saito stressed, "we are willing to table this discussion, until such time as the proposal can be made available and interested parties can peruse it at their leisure."

Saito gave a gracious smile, which, like all his smiles, didn't quite reach his eyes. "The Ministry is more concerned with the timely placement of a new Headmaster so that business can proceed as usual. We've had letters from concerned parents, and while many have said they're getting responses to their inquiries from Hogwarts, thank you for that Professor Levine, the heart of the matter comes down to public opinion of our once-great school."

If the outcry from the public had threatened dissent before, this would herald mutiny.

Arthur was on his feet. "Once-great!? How can you say that? Hogwarts is still great, it always has been! And it always will be!"

"The floor recognizes-"

"Is that right, Professor Levine? And which house are you a member of?" Saito challenged him.

Arthur glared at him as the Chairman banged the gavel some more.

"I didn't attend as a student," Arthur gritted out, "but that doesn't have anything to do with this decision. The board needs to decide-"

"-whether Hogwarts should remain open, yes."

That hadn't been what Arthur was going to say at all. But the hush that fell over the assembly was telling in that they wanted to hear the answer.

"If you feel that's the next question, let's bring it to a vote," Arthur said, in a cool and confident tone he didn't feel.

The snivelly board member drew himself up, affronted, prepared to defend his honor. "Are you suggesting that the _public_ vote on something that the Board is responsible for deciding?" he sputtered, like the word left a bad taste in his mouth. "Who is making changes to the framework now, Professor Levine?"

"No, I-"

"I'll have you know, Professor," he spit out the word, "that this Board is full of completely competent members who are well qualified to sit at this bench. And may I also remind you that this Board's sole responsibility is to be the public liaison with Hogwarts. _We_ hold _you_ responsible, Professor, not the other way around. And let me tell you-"

"Mr. Chairman, I think that's enough."

All eyes pivoted to the tall man in the audience, who had risen to his feet, his deep voice ringing in the room. "I believe, Mr. Chairman, that the public is also standing here in front of you," said the Herbology professor Arthur had recognized, and a chatter of approval rose around him. Arthur sank back in his chair and gave him the floor. "I can personally attest to the integrity of the school itself, but Hogwarts alumni are among the most impressive in the world. This school has produced warriors, poets, politicians, and healers known throughout the Muggle and magical worlds. And if you are the ones holding Hogwarts accountable, then I shall be the one to inform you that _we_ are the ones holding _you_ accountable. And we are also your report card. And your CV. We are watching, Mr. Chairman. And if you are not able to uphold the sanctity of a school that some of us have bled for, one we've had friends _die_ for," the man swallowed and took a shaky breath, "then we will remove you."

"Professor Longbottom, please, we meant no disrespect," the Chairman said, holding out a placating hand.

"The Hogwarts community is vast," Professor Longbottom continued like he hadn't spoken, "and we have expectations. Demands. We demand the professors be allowed to do the great work they were hired to do without interference. We demand you support them in their endeavors. And we demand the students continue to have an opportunity to learn not just what is deigned to be taught, but all there is to know. And as the Board's sole…"

He kept talking, but Arthur couldn't hear anything else. Maybe it was because he was a professor himself, or maybe it was because he was standing up for Arthur, for Hogwarts, and pulling the public behind him, but his words rattled in Arthur's brain. _Not just what is taught, but all there is to know._

Arthur had been handed that opportunity. He could be learning magic that was not just being taught, but magic that tried to find all there was to know. He snuck a glance at Eames, and saw Eames staring back at him. Eames's mouth was quirked in a shadow of a smile, and he raised an eyebrow, knocking his head back towards the Professor- _would you get a load of this guy?_

And Arthur felt his lips twitch in return, and he hoped Eames hadn't grown to attached to his forged teaching certificate. Because as soon as this was done, he was going to do three things. He was going to recommend Professor Longbottom for Headmaster, he was going to convince Dom to take the Ministry position, and he was going to drag Eames along with him. Because he demanded to see not just what was given to him, but all that there was. And Eames was part of that. His smile stretched to a full blown grin, dimples and all, and his hand found Eames's under the table. He squeezed his fingers, fast and hard, letting go before Eames could squeeze them fully back.

He rose to his feet as Professor Longbottom thanked the Chairman and sat down and in the stillness that followed said, "I know that I am not alone when I say, 'Hear, hear, Professor.'" Arthur turned to the elderly gentleman in his cardigan and brown corduroys, thinning hair and walking cane, and started to clap.

Eames was next, standing beside Arthur, ignoring Saito, the Board, and all protocols and giving this man a standing ovation. The crowd around the Professor surged to their feet, almost as one, and joined in, the claps changing to hoots and whistles as they urged the gentleman to his feet once more. He smiled shyly as he accepted jostles and back slaps and held a hand up to quiet everyone.

"All I have to say on this matter is that I dearly love this school and all it has given me," the Professor said once they'd quieted. "I shall continue to support it until my last breath, and I can't say I blame Professor Cobb for wanting to continue beyond that."

Arthur nodded and turned back to the Board. "What that in mind, my prior statement was directed to you, the Board members, and not the public. Knowing whom you are representing, and the expectations, no, _demands_ of those people, I was asking you to vote."

The Chairman picked up his gavel and banged it once. "Motion to vote for accepting the Framework document in its current state."

"Seconded."

"Those in favor say 'Aye'."

"Aye," came the lone board member at the end of the row.

"Those opposed?"

"Nay."

"Let the record state that the Nays have it," the Chairman said with another swift crack of the gavel. "We will not accept the document in its current state. If it is revised and redistributed so that timely feedback can be solicited, this can be brought up at the next meeting. Until then, motion to vote on retaining Professor Malorie Cobb as Headmistress."

"Seconded."

"Those in favor say 'Aye'."

The silence was deafening, and Arthur was not surprised. He doubted he would have done any different.

"Those opposed?"

"NAY."

"Let the record reflect that the Board has voted unanimously to replace Headmistress Cobb. Motion to vote on instilling Professor Dominic Cobb as Headmaster," he continued, barely pausing for breath.

"Seconded."

Arthur held his breath.

"Those in favor say 'Aye'."

There was a small spattering of "Aye," from around the room, but nothing overwhelming.

"Those opposed?"

"Nay."

The response was about the same, but if Arthur were judging, he'd say Dom was out of a job. The Chairman must have agreed.

"Let the record state the Nays have it. We will reconvene in one week to vote on recommendations provided in the meantime. For those of you observing today's meeting," he said, casting an annoyed eye on the folks cluttering up his chamber, "if you have strong feelings about a recommendation, I suggest you owl one of your board members. That is all, thank you, motion to adjourn."

"Secon-"

"Meeting adjourned good day." He clacked his papers together on the desk once before rising and exiting the chamber, like he couldn't wait to be gone.

The remaining Board members blinked at each other before excusing themselves, the shuffle of bodies and paperwork amplified when the public rose to leave as well. Arthur walked to where Professor Longbottom was waiting for the crowd to depart somewhat, and leaned over to him.

"I plan on recommending you for the Headmaster position, I hope you'll consider it," he said it loud enough for a few people to overhear, and from their reaction, they were hoping for that too.

"Oh, that's…" the Professor stammered, "thank you, Arthur. I will have to think about that."

"I hope you will," Arthur said with a smile.

He turned to leave, a lightness in his step that hadn't been there before, and Eames's face stopped him.

"What?" he asked, hoping he didn't have something on his face.

Eames's eyes were warm, crinkled at the corners the way Arthur loved.

"Nothing, darling. Just glad to see you're dreaming a little bigger."

Arthur gave him a smile. "Thanks to you? Always."


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: This is it! Thank you so much for coming with me on this journey, I've enjoyed every minute. Have a great rest of your week!

The walk back through the castle grounds felt long and annoying with the rush of excitement Arthur felt pumping through his veins. He kept sneaking glances at Eames, who was quiet beside him, hands in his pockets like he was out for a stroll, his river robes flashing in the sun. He had a strange smile on his face, but Arthur could only think about kissing it off of him as soon as they got behind closed doors.

They headed to Eames's rooms by unspoken agreement, eyes on their shoes as they navigated the mostly empty hallways. They had one hour before they were expected back in class, and if Arthur didn't have Eames naked for most of that, he was going to raise holy hell.

The door had barely closed behind him when Arthur was crowded up against it by Eames's bulk. He kissed him as he removed Arthur's robes, Arthur fighting him to remove Eames's, and by the time they were both down to their pants they were breathing hard.

"Was I that obvious?" Arthur panted, pawing at Eames through the fabric.

"Nnngh, and I used to think you were hard to read, darling," Eames said, licking a stripe along his collarbone. "Watching you in there, I couldn't wait to get your trousers off." Then he stuck his hand down Arthur's boxers and Arthur's eyes rolled back in his head.

"Holy shit, I want you to fuck me," he whispered. "Is that okay?" he said in between biting the muscles between Eames's neck and shoulder. "We can switch next time if you want." He stroked Eames through his pants, tracing the line of his cock from the tip all the way back, cupping his balls and stroking them.

"Bloody fuck, yes, and yes, and whatever the hell you want."

Arthur leaned back far enough to grin in Eames's face. "That's what I like to hear."

He pulled back, grasping Eames's hands, and led him to the rug in front of the fireplace. "Lie down," he urged and Eames smiled and stretched out, leaning back on his elbows. Arthur lit a fire tall enough to stop any Floo messages, and looked at Eames, naked except for the boxer briefs trapping his cock against his hip and the miles of tattoos that Arthur still needed to map with his tongue. Without preamble, he stripped off the rest of his clothing and knelt at Eames's feet, staring up at him, and grinned. Eames looked a little dazed but smiled back, lids heavy and pupils blown as he watched Arthur watching him.

Arthur started to draw himself up Eames's body slowly, dragging every inch of himself over his warm bulk. He paused along the way to drop kisses as bookmarks for places to come back and worship later, and Eames leaned back, giving him room to work.

By the time he finally eased Eames's shorts over his hips, Eames was sweating and cursing under his breath and Arthur fucking loved this. Eames's skin glowed in the light from the fire, and he was beautiful. Arthur stroked him everywhere, not able to get enough and wondering if he ever would. Eames hips rocked slightly when Arthur skated his fingertips over his straining erection and he made an inarticulate gurgling sound that made Arthur grin. He didn't think he'd ever smiled so much during sex. He bent to drop tiny licks over the velvety skin, meaning just to touch, taste, tantalize, but couldn't quite pull himself away. He laved his tongue over Eames, touching each ridge with his tongue and then burying his nose in the curls at the base. "You smell so good," Arthur mumbled, licking a stripe up his shaft. Eames was fully retracted and the crown gleamed with precum that Arthur lapped up. "Mmm, you taste so good."

"Christ, pet," Eames gusted, "don't tease." His hands were clutching at the rug beneath him and Arthur took pity on him. He dropped one more placeholder kiss on the tip, then moved up and kissed Eames on the mouth. Eames grappled at him, kissing him frantically with the pent up energy he'd been holding back as Arthur played. He whined as Arthur pulled back to mutter the proper preparation spells, and curled upward to hold Arthur as he got himself in position.

As he sank down on Eames's length, their ragged breath was the only sound in the warm room. He paused for a moment, adjusting and catching his breath and god, Eames was glorious in the firelight. Arthur pushed him back on the plush rug, where he lay panting beneath Arthur with his eyes closed. Arthur watched, transfixed, when he started to move because every time he sank down on Eames's length, he swore Eames's hair started to change color. Whenever he rose up it would lighten to its normal dark blonde, but when he rolled his hips and drew that breathy moan from Eames again, a dark brown would start at the roots, moving toward the tips. He wondered if Eames even knew he was doing that. Arthur sped up, and Eames's hair didn't have the chance to fade back all the way before it started darkening again, the roots staying dark. Arthur grinned. He was going to blow Eames's mind.

Arthur kept one eye on his hairline and the other on his lips, his navel, his nipples, his fucking gorgeous chest, and he lost himself in the rise and fall of their hips. Eames ran his hands over Arthur's face, neck, stomach, and Arthur had no idea what he was saying, but he heard Eames agreeing with him. Finally, Eames got his feet braced on the floor and started thrusting back into Arthur, hitting all the right spots, especially when Arthur leaned back slightly, and _oh, shit, yes, that, there._

He forced his eyes open, and Eames's hair was jet black, and Arthur knew before he said,

"Shit, Arthur, I'm gonna…"

"Yes, yesyesyes."

Eames braced himself and thrust up once, twice, three times before his hair flashed a brilliant shade of white, and a groan rolled out of him that probably stated in his toes. He spasmed twice more, his hair giving slower, muted flashes, before sinking back to its normal color. Eames collapsed to the rug once more and Arthur stared at him in amazement as Eames caught his breath. How had this man ever been single? Sex with him was a fucking pyrotechnics show. Arthur couldn't wait to find out what else he could do.

He'd nearly forgotten his own dick when Eames wrapped his hand around him with a whispered, " _Lubricus,_ " and suddenly Eames's hair could have sprouted oranges and Arthur wouldn't have cared as long as he didn't stop doing that.

"Oh, fuck, Eames," Arthur said, clenching around Eames and biting his lip at Eames's sharp intake of breath. "Oh, shit, oh, _shit!"_

Half a dozen pumps and Arthur was done, finished, wrecked a million ways from Sunday and spending all over Eames's chest. He catalogued one magnificent vision of his come mixed with Eames's chest hair before collapsing on the rug next to Eames and trying to draw oxygen into his lungs.

It was a few minutes before Eames blew out, "Bloody hell, darling. You keep doing that, and I'll follow you anywhere."

Arthur lifted his head to peer at Eames, his eyes shut and a tired, contented smile on his face. Arthur bit his lip.

"You know, it's funny you should say that because-"

"I think you should do it."

Arthur blinked for a moment at Eames's relaxed face before he summoned reserves of energy he didn't know he possessed and rolled closer to Eames. He nestled his head on Eames's chest, casting a cleaning spell so he could run his fingers over his tattoos, and listened to the thud of Eames's heart. Eames curled an arm around his shoulders.

"There's no use giving me all the reasons you shouldn't, pet," he murmured, close to sleep. "I already know them, and I still think you should do it. Provided you take me along for the ride, of course."

Finally, he cracked an eyelid and looked at Arthur, and Arthur didn't know what his face was doing, but Eames gave him another small smile and closed his eyes again.

"Take the job. You can quit and come back at any time, if that's what you decide you want. Not many people in the world can do what you do. You should go do it."

"Huh," Arthur said, laying his head back down. "And here I had a whole speech I was going to give you."

"Hmm," Eames hummed, and he sounded like Arthur felt. "And here I used to think you were hard to read."

Arthur grinned and pressed his face into Eames's warmth.

Eventually they got up, pulled themselves together, and went to work. Arthur thought his smile might be permanent, and he didn't care. His students were terrified, sure that a pop quiz was coming at any moment, and it made Arthur grin harder.

When classes were done for the day, he caught Eames outside his classroom.

"Would you like to hear the speech anyway?"

"The speech?" Eames asked, his brow furrowed.

"Yes," Arthur confirmed. "About why we should take the job. Because I'm going to give it to Dom now."

"Ah, I see. Well, in that case, lead the way, darling."

They walked to the Cobb residence, and as they walked, Arthur realized that no matter what Dom decided about Saito's offer, it wouldn't be their residence much longer. They would soon be cleaning out the rooms that Mal had decorated, packing away and sorting out her belongings, and finding somewhere else to live. He would be there to help, of course, but the finality of this door closing was loud. Mal would really be gone. Dom would really be forced to move on. And the kids might really have a chance to grow up outside of the shadow of their mother's death.

Dom answered their light knock, the kids playing noisily in the background, and it lightened Arthur's heart to hear it.

"Arthur," Dom greeted.

"ARTHUR!"

"ARFUR!"

"And Mr. Eames!"

"A Mssr Eames!"

He was hit in the knees by two sets of arms, hugging him tightly before they moved to Eames and did the same to him. He grinned and tried not to ruffle their hair since he'd hated it as a kid. It was good to see them smile.

Dom smiled too, actually. A small one, but it reached his eyes.

"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" He stepped aside and let them enter, and Arthur took it as a good sign.

"Well, I'm not sure what you've heard…" Arthur started, but Dom held up a hand.

"If this is about the Board's ruling, I already heard. I got an owl right after the board adjourned."

"Right," Arthur said, relieved he didn't have to be the bearer of all the bad news. "Well, there's something else…" he trailed off, looking at the kids.

They looked back and Phillipa smiled innocently, although she clearly knew what was coming.

"Alright you two, go play while we talk for a bit."

"Can Mr Eames play with us too?"

"Ooh, yes, please," Eames said, "I hope you have some good toys. All I have are adult ones." He gave them an exaggerated pout while Dom snorted and then Eames dropped a lewd wink at Arthur as the kids led him away, chattering.

Dom looked at Arthur, whose ears were undoubtedly pink and who could not, currently, look him in the eye.

"Are you two…?"

Arthur cleared his throat and gestured to the couch. "Want to have a seat?"

Dom hid a smirk, poorly, and nodded. "Sure."

When Arthur had settled on the couch and Dom had taken his chair opposite him, he reached under the chair and withdrew two Pepsis and handed one to Arthur.

"Oh, fucking thank Merlin," Arthur breathed, staring at the bottle in wonder. "I am so sick of fucking tea."

Dom chuckled and cast a spell to chill them both before he tipped his against Arthur's. "To old friends and new adventures, yeah?"

Arthur smiled at him. "Yeah."

As they drank, Arthur explained Saito's proposal and Dom looked neither intrigued nor resigned. He looked determined, but also like he was expecting it. Arthur wondered what, exactly, Dom had managed to pull from the Minister of Magic's mind, but didn't ask.

"Did he say when we'd be starting?"

Arthur shook his head. "I didn't ask, but I can owl him in the morning. I'll try to get a timeline from him too, so we can try to get some new teachers in here."

"Mmm," Dom hummed, lost in thought and forgetting about the soda in his hand.

"Dom?"

Dom focused on him again, his brow furrowed.

"I'm thinking of nominating Neville for Headmaster."

It took him a second, but Dom nodded. "Yeah, he'd be a good one," was all he said before tipping the rest of the contents of his soda into his mouth.

Arthur took it for the cue it was and rose to his feet. When Dom rose too, extending his hand, Arthur took it.

"Old friends?" he asked.

"New adventures," Dom answered and pulled him in for a slappy hug.

"Right. I'll let you know what Saito says."

Dom nodded and reached into his pocked. "Here, saved this for you."

He deposited one glass vial with swirling blue liquid into Arthur's hand.

Arthur turned it to see his own name in Mal's handwriting. "Saved this? What do you mean?"

"I mean that's all that's left. I obliterated the rest after you guys left this morning."

Arthur stared at him, vial forgotten. "You… you did?"

He just nodded, his lips pursed. "She didn't need them any more. And to be honest, I don't know that it was any good. It was a way for us to practice what we were doing, I didn't realize she... Well. You don't have to keep it, I just thought I'd offer it."

Arthur reached out a hand and grasped Dom's shoulder. He felt like he should say something, the man had erased years worth of work he'd completed with his dead wife. Everything sounded awful in his head though.

"Thanks," he finally settled on. "I appreciate it."

"Better go play with the kids before you leave or I'll never hear the end of it. And don't leave Eames here. Who knows how much he eats?"

Arthur chuckled and went to the kids' room.

Eames was on the floor, surrounded by every toy James owned, and Phillipa was explaining which ponies were considered "unicorns" versus "pegasi", and how there were some that were both, to which Eames agreed it seemed like cheating.

Arthur folded himself into a sitting position on the floor that made him wince, and Eames smirked at him.

"Hey, guys," he started, and when Eames moved to get get up, Arthur grasped his hand. He needed him here for this. "We need to talk about your mom. Is that okay?"

If the kids noticed them holding hands, they didn't say anything. They just nodded, their eyes wide.

"I know you miss her," Arthur said. "I miss her too. Sometimes, when I miss her the most, I feel like I see her-"

"That's not our mama," Phillipa interrupted. "She's not like her." Her voice was strong and steady, and he saw James slip his hand into hers. Arthur swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat.

"Do you still talk to her sometimes?" he asked.

They both nodded vigorously. "I talk to her even harder when that other lady comes around. I just want _her_ back, not that lady," Phillipa said, frowning. "Do you think if I talk to her hard enough my real mama will come back?"

And Arthur couldn't reply because he was blinking, hard, and trying not to cry in front of these kids who needed him to be strong. They were looking to him for answers and-

"Poppet, people who die don't come back," Eames said, his voice gentle. The kids turned to look at him. "I'm sorry no one told you that, and I'm sorry that this is confusing now that that lady is here. But when people are gone, they are gone." He held out his arms and both kids ran to him, and he cuddled them close. "It's okay to cry, it's okay to feel sad," he said as he looked at Arthur, "and after a while, it's okay to let them go, too."

"But what 'bout Peeves?" asked James's small voice from Eames's chest. "And what 'bout Sir Nick-lass?"

Eames smiled a small smile at the boy looked up at him so hopefully. "Well," Eames said, "I didn't know Peeves when he was alive, which is too bad because I think I would have liked him. But I bet he wasn't exactly like he is now. And I bet the people who knew and loved him had a hard time letting him go too. But it's something we have to do."

"Yes," Arthur agreed finally getting his voice back. "Your Mama was my friend. And I miss her all the time. But thinking about her, and remembering the good things about her are different than wanting her to actually come back. It's okay to keep her alive in your hearts. It's different to try and keep her alive for real. And I think that other lady is getting confused."

They thought about that for a while, quiet with Eames's big arms around them, and Arthur was _so glad_ he was here.

"Can we still talk to her?" Phillipa asked quietly from the vicinity of Eames's armpit.

Arthur gave her a soft smile. "Let's try something for a week. Do you remember where your Mama is buried? Hm? Where we had the funeral?" They nodded. "When you feel sad and you want to talk to her, tell a grown up and someone will take you there. No matter what, someone will take you there."

He wasn't sure exactly how ghosts were tied to the earth, but he had a pretty good feeling that those two tiny, yet powerful wizards had a lot to do with this particular ghost. Maybe if they stopped focusing their powers, and Dom let Mal go for real, she'd drift away. In the meantime, he would fight anyone who said no to taking those kids to visit their mom's grave.

Arthur looked up and saw Dom leaning in the doorway. He wasn't sure how long he'd been there, but from the look on his face, he knew Dom would fight them too. Arthur made a mental note to put it in as a rider when he owled Saito with their acceptance.

He rubbed the kids' backs and told them he had to get Eames home because he was getting sleepy and he hadn't even finished his homework. Eames gave a large, rather convincing yawn, which Arthur tried not to duplicate, and the kids crawled out of his lap. They traded hugs and high fives, and at the door, Dom thanked them for coming by.

"We'll talk to you tomorrow," Arthur frowned. "This is a whole new road, Dom. And I'm not going anywhere. Get used to seeing this face."

Dom nodded, then looked at Eames and laughed, a real, full laugh, and Arthur turned to Eames in time to see his own face looking back at him, complete with frown.

He tried to keep frowning, he really did, but he was no match for Eames, and he gave in and laughed too.

"Night, guys," Dom said, shutting the door.

"Well!" Eames said, hands in his pockets. "It is getting awfully late, and I haven't eaten yet. And look at the time. The kitchens are closed." He raised his eyebrows at Arthur.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Can I make you some supper, Mr. Eames?"

"Ooh, that sounds delightful, darling. How about some of that fancy wizard food you made me before?"

"Fancy?" Arthur asked, trying to remember. "Wait, _that_?! That was not fancy, Eames."

Eames just shrugged and turned to start walking. Arthur fell in step beside him. "I do have the ingredients though," he admitted.

To his surprise, Eames sighed.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just that after we eat, I'm going to feel really sleepy, and I don't even have my homework done. Any chance I can stay at yours?"

Eames grinned at him, and Arthur wanted to take his hand, or push him against the wall and kiss him. Or both.

So Arthur grinned back, cast a quick cloaking spell, and did.

He would probably get tired of kissing his man. Someday. Maybe. Or maybe he should learn to dream a little bigger.

"Always."


End file.
